What's Left of Us
by imjce
Summary: Fate is what happened to you. Destiny is what you choose to do, in spite of fate. When Maura's fate is intertwined with Jane's destiny, they find themselves at odds. Maura may be a brilliant doctor, but first and foremost, she is Paddy Doyle's daughter. When Jane is forced to choose between justice, and her heart, only one can prevail. In the end, what will be left, of us?
1. Prologue: The Beginning

**Prologue: The Beginning**

The room was practically pitch black. The only source of light was from the natural moonlight; it shone through the many windows in the bedroom. The pillows were on the floor, and the blanket splayed. Long toned legs flailed about, as they wrestled with the sheets below. The alarm had been set prior to bed, and it wasn't set to go off for another five or so hours. But unfortunately for Jane, her cellphone had beaten her alarm clock to the punch line; the ringtone was obnoxiously loud. The bedroom was a complete mess, with articles of clothing scattered throughout, but even so, she knew exactly where her cellphone was, amongst the jungle. Without much difficulty, or the need to open her eyes, Jane grabbed her cellphone off the nightstand and answered it, out of habit after so many years of doing so.

"Rizzoli."

"Jane." It was Korsak's voice; loud and clear, and alert. "We have another one."

"Oh, come on!" Jane looked over at her alarm clock. It was two-thirty in the morning. "Please tell me I'm dreaming, and that this isn't real."

"Sorry, Jane."

Jane sighed. "Where?"

"The docks."

And that's when Jane noticed the background noise. Korsak was definitely by the docks; if he wasn't, this was one elaborate prank he was playing.

"I wouldn't dare wake you if this wasn't an emergency, Jane. We need all hands on deck."

Jane rubbed her eyes, and in her raspy voice said, "Jesus. It's the third one this month, Korsak."

"You and I both know this is just the beginning..."

"Yeah. Of my worst nightmare."

"Yeah, well, it's mine, too."

"Give me twenty minutes. I'll pick us up some coffee."

"Bring your boots, Jane. You're going to need them. We're in for a long night."

Jane ended the call with another sigh. She couldn't bear any more of Korsak's good news. She tossed her cellphone on the bed, and flopped face down on the warm covers. Whatever remnant of sleep had evaporated, and in its place was a sense of helplessness, and maybe, just maybe, a dash of despair. She didn't want to admit it, but Korsak was right. This was just the beginning. The month of September had only began eight days ago, and they already had three bodies in the morgue.

The reason behind the violence, and body count, was simple, yet so complex. The answer: a turf war. It was turf war between the Irish and the Italians. The Italian mafia were a powerhouse in the City of Boston. They've long held a stronghold on Boston's racketeering, money laundering, and loan sharking market. Anything that generated greens, the Italian mafia had a hand in. But that's where things start to complicate. The Irish mob were young and bold, and had plenty of fresh blood. They were overstepping where they didn't belong. There's a rumor, that Paddy Doyle wasn't the one that initiated this violent turf war. No. It was his daughter. The heir to Doyle's clandestine empire. The daughter was eager to prove herself of worth, to the world, to the disbelievers, and more importantly, to all those that dare defy her.

Jane could not wait to put a face to the infamous CHB. In the short amount of time since she burst onto the scene, she's already made a reputation for herself for being ferocious, cunning, fearless, and downright mad. She was a woman hidden in the shadows of the underworld. The Intelligence Unit was having a difficult time tracking the ever elusive criminal mastermind; they don't so much as have her name, much less a picture. They had zilch. And that's when she took it upon herself to bestow the woman a fitting nickname, for many reasons. She named Doyle's daughter CHB: cold hearted bitch.

There was no end in sight for this maddening turf war. The Italians will continue to resist and retaliate, while the Irish will continue to advance and strike fear into the hearts of all Bostonians. And until such a time, Jane wasn't going to get a wink of sleep; she was certain of it.

Jane stripped off her boxer shorts and raggedy t-shirt. She pulled on a pair of dress pants, and a plain button down shirt. She made sure to grab her cellphone off the bed. She also grabbed her blazer from her closet hanger. Early fall night air in Boston chilled her to the bone.

\- o -

The underground parking lot was empty; the main gates were closed after nine o'clock. The lot was below ground; it gave the place a cool draft. The lot was fortified with concrete pillars, which in turn, created plenty of blind spots. It was the perfect place, for the perfect crime. The lot was also filthy dirty. It only sweetened the deal. Whatever trace evidence they happen to leave behind would be rendered useless. It was a public lot. No exclusivity meant no probable cause.

There were five vehicles parked in a circle; two were sedans, and the rest were SUVs. Inside the manmade circle, was a man on his knees; he had his hands restrained behind his back with a zip tie. It wasn't a matter of if, but a matter of when. Regardless of how much he pleaded, or how hard he sobbed, it wasn't going to change the fact that he wasn't walking out of here alive. Whether he cooperated or not, his fate was sealed; he was going to die. Now that being said, he did have options; he did have a choice. If he should choose to cooperate, she'll let him die painlessly. But should he choose to resist, and be a dim-witted dick, she was going to have him die a slow and painful death; and that, she can guarantee him. Whatever his choice may be, it won't alter his outcome, but it'll definitely alter the process.

"Please..." Aldo begged for the umpteenth time, "I already told you everything I know."

"No. You haven't. That's the point."

"Look, I'm just the fucking middle man. I'm not privy to the details. I have a seller, and he has products he wants to move. I simply find a buyer, and broker a deal for the two parties. That's it, man, I swear! Please, you have to believe me."

"First off, I'm not a man." Her three inch heels clinked against the concrete floor, as she closed the distance between their bodies; she got up close and personal. "And secondly, you're lying."

"No! I'm not!" Aldo shook his head feverishly, "I'm telling you everything I know! I swear it!"

"See, right there, you just did it again. Whenever you lie, your left supraorbital brow ridge raises ever so slightly. Though the twitch is subtle, it's also quite obvious, given the fact that you have extraordinarily symmetrical facial features."

"Huh?"

"It sticks out like a staphylococcal infection on a thumb."

Snot oozed from Aldo's nostrils as he said, "Please, lady, speak English."

"Sticks out like a sore thumb."

Then without warning, she kicked him, dead center, in the chest. It sent him flying backwards. She proceeded to place her three inch heels over his groin; she paid particular emphasize on his testicles. More than ninety-six percent of a man's pain receptor when he gets hit in the groin originates from the testes, not the penis itself.

"This is your last chance."

"What do you —"

"Wrong again."

She dropped her heels down another inch.

Aldo hollered in intense pain.

If she pressed down any further, the sharp blade-like heels were going to pierce his testicles; not that she minded, if that's what it took.

"Stop! Hold it!" Aldo gave in; he waved the white flag. "Giovanni!"

She eased her foot, as a sign of encouragement for him to continue. "Go on."

"The buyer's name is Michael Vikram. He's some Russian tycoon that's looking to branch out, and expand his business portfolio, if you know what I mean. The seller's Lou Giovanni. The shipment's coming in from Peru. It's due to arrive sometime this week, but I don't know the exact time and date. But it should be easy to spot. Lou was saying something about coffee beans. I think that's the cover they're going to use to get the shipment through USBP. There. I told you everything I know. And that's the truth."

She observed him, if only just for a minute. She eased her foot off, completely. "Excellent. See. That wasn't so hard now, was it?"

"That's easy for you to say. Giovanni's going to fucking kill me if he knew I snitched on him." Aldo shivered at the mere thought, "You have no idea what they do to snitches, lady."

"That's where you're wrong, Mr. Brioschi. You're awfully optimistic. But here's the thing: they can't kill you, if we killed you first. Basic application of logic. It makes sense, yes?"

"But...I...I told you everything!"

She said coldly, "Stand him up."

One of the men holstered his gun, and pulled the weeping man to his feet.

"Give me two hundred jumping jacks."

"Huh?!"

"If you stop, I'll shoot you. Execution style."

"What —"

"And...go!"

Aldo didn't so much as hesitate. He did as he was told. Without the usage of his arms, he could only complete the exercise using his lower extremities; that would have to suffice. He worked out, every now and then, he was familiar with jumping jacks. But never, in a million years, did he expect to be doing them under such circumstances, and such duress.

Two minutes and twenty-seven seconds. That's how long it took Aldo Brioschi to complete two hundred jumping jacks. By the time he was done, a thin veil of sweat glistened on his forehead.

"Do you know why I made you do jumping jacks?"

Aldo shook his head. He couldn't speak; his breath was still caught in his throat.

"A healthy resting heart rate is between 60-80 beats per minute. You look relatively fit. It would be an educated guess to say your resting heart rate would be around 68 beats per minute, give or take. At 68bpm, and taking into account that the current room temperature is around 26.5°C, if I was to sever your carotid artery, with your height and body weight, it'll take you ten minutes to bleed out. And that's where the jumping jacks come in. By pushing your resting heart rate well above 130bpm, when I slice your carotid artery open, your heart will continue to pump vigorously, due in part to the oxygen deficiency from the jumping jacks. You'll bleed out in less than a minute. Quite a significant difference, would you not agree? Isn't physiology and cardiology simply fascinating?"

Aldo's face said it all, "What?!"

She took a scalpel and she slashed it across Aldo's throat. The incision was precise, and every bit as deadly, due in part to the years of medical training she received.

Blood gushed from Aldo's open wound like a geyser; it showed no signs of slowing down. And like she predicted, it took him fifty-seven seconds to bleed out; less than a minute's time.

"Let's get out of here."

"You nervous?"

She handed him the scalpel. "Not in the least."

"Don't lie to me, Maura. I can tell when your nerves are gnawing at you."

"I'm not nervous. I'm agitated. There's a difference."

"A distinction without a different."

Maura rolled her eyes, "Just drive."

\- o -


	2. Chapter 1: So We Finally Meet

**CH 1: So We Finally Meet**

The autopsy room was vast and grand, in comparison to the other departments within BPD. It was also the only department that was spared the cruel fate of budget cuts. Everything piece of equipment housed in this very department was the latest, and the absolute best, that money could buy. But that didn't matter. No matter how technologically advanced the equipment was, it had to be utilized by the right person, by the right pair of hands, to be able to fulfill its functionality and maximize its potential. The word is talent. And unfortunately, the medical department lacked just that. Money can't buy talent.

The current Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts was a talentless, egotistical, misogynist douche nozzle. That's right. To call him a douchebag, would be an insult to douchebags everywhere. He wasn't worthy. He was a nozzle. The douche nozzle was a complete and utter failure as a medical pathologist, and a even worse human being. But until the department could find a more suitable candidate, Dr. Thomas Pike was the best they got, whether Jane liked it or not.

Jane took several deep breaths to quell her nerves. Every time she spoke with Pike the Tyke, he would push all her buttons, and the next thing she knew, her anger would boil over and she would always be mere inches from taking her Glock, and pistol whipping him. Korsak and Frost weren't any better. Korsak would probably stab Pike in the eye with a syringe; and Frost would undoubtingly put the man in a chokehold. Jane had to take one for the team. She pushed forward. The familiar scent of disinfectants hit her lungs.

Pike didn't have the common courtesy to even acknowledge Jane's presence. Jane took the initiative to break word.

"Dr. Pike."

In his infamous monotone, Pike said, "Hello, Detective."

Jane slowly approached, "Have you completed the autopsy report?"

"Is it on your desk?" Pike asked.

"Well, no."

"Then it isn't done yet." Pike creased his forehead, "Please don't waste my time with such idiotic questions."

Jane closed her eyes, clenched her teeth, and took several deep breaths to calm herself. When she was ready, she said, "Okay. Do you at least have a cause of death for us?"

"The victim does not appear to have any visible wound or trauma, so the COD is still inconclusive at this point."

"Oh, come on, Pike!" Jane gestured at the autopsy table, "The body's been there all morning, and you're telling me you can't even speculate what the cause of death may be?!"

"Speculate?" Pike the Tyke pulled his lips back, and bore his teeth. "I specialize in medical pathology and microscopic pathogens, not in speculation! And I most certainly did not get the job as Chief Medical Examiner by speculating! It is not in my capacity, nor job description, to speculate, assume, nor presume. Such words of foolishness. How on Earth did you manage to pass your detective's exam, is beyond me."

"You're right." Jane said calmly.

This was a definite first. Pike never expected Jane to concede. "I…I am?"

"Of course you're right." Jane closed the gap, and batted her eyelashes. "I wasted all that time taking that darn detective's exam, when I should have applied and taken your God damn fucking job! It doesn't seem hard, you do it! And you're a complete douche nozzle!"

Jane had been on edge, ever since this Irish-Italian turf war started, and Pike had pushed her over the edge of sanity. With no sleep, around the clock overtime, downright fatigue wearing on, Jane was not in the mood to mess around.

"You're a nit, Pike, you hear me?! A nit! The victim was found by the docks. Check his God damn fucking lungs for traces of fresh water particulates! That will tell us, definitively, if he died of drowning, or if he died elsewhere, and was then tossed into the docks. Have you done that, Pike? Well, have you?!"

Pike opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish. The perspiration from his nose made his glasses slide off his nasal bridge. "No..."

"So what have you been doing all this God damn, live long day?!" Jane pointed a dangerous finger, "If you dare mention your stupid forensic vacuum cleaner, Pike, so help me God…"

"Uh. Well. I did retrieve a larva from the victim's gash."

Jane sighed heavily, "I thought you said he didn't have any visible wound or trauma."

"Ah, you see, that's the interesting thing. The gash is minor, and it's most definitely not life threatening. But interestingly enough, it appears to be inflicted post mortem. I've been trying to determine if it's class Monogenea or Trematoda. The two are quite similar and are not easily distinguishable to the untrained eye."

"Okay." Jane said evenly, "Will the larva help us determine a cause of death?"

"No."

"What about time of death?"

"No."

"Will it help us narrow the location of the first crime scene?"

Pike repeated, yet again, "No."

Jane could feel the blood boil beneath her skin, as her blood pressure undoubtingly spiked. "You're worse than a Chia Pet, and more useless than a pet rock, Pike!"

"But it's important." Pike replied timidly.

"Why is it important?! Why? What is your fascination with the larva?"

"You see, I have to catalogue every single piece of evidence I recover, Detective. And I simply cannot do so until I've correctly identified the species and the class of the larva."

"Baby Jesus, this is killing me." Jane mumbled beneath her breath. "You can have a technician do that for you, Pike. Your main job as Chief Medical —"

"I do not need you to tell me what my job description entails, Detective."

Jane held her hands up, and waved the white flag. She was done here. Ding-ding. Tag team. Either Korsak or Frost would have to deal with Pike. Her patience had been depleted by the man's incompetence. Jane hoped to Mother Mary, it was Korsak's turn to bat. That syringe in Pike's eye would be a dream come true; it could even be her birthday wish, if need be.

"Detective?"

Jane turned at the sound of her name. "Hey, Susie."

"I have the latest tox screen report you asked for."

Jane gratefully accepted the file, "Have I told you just how much I adore you, Susie?"

Pike asked sternly, "Senior Criminalist Chang, as Chief M.E, should I not get a copy of the report firstly?"

"The original copy is on your desk. The one I gave Detective Rizzoli is a photocopy."

"You hear that, douche nozzle?" Jane waved the file childishly, "Photocopy."

That seemed to shut Pike up.

Jane quickly skimmed through the report. Everything appeared normal, except one noticeable portion of the graph; it was highlighted red. "What's this, Susie?"

"It's Benzodiazepine, or Benzo, for short. We found small traces of the drug in the victim's blood; only 0.8mg, to be exact. It's a powerful psychoactive drug that's commonly used as a sedative or a muscle relaxant. Other uses include recreational abuse."

"This drug, Benzo, it's regulated, right?"

"Definitely." Susie said, "It's a class A narcotic. Licensed physicians and pharmacists keep strict categorization and inventory of the drug."

Jane's tired eyes lit up. "Our victim worked at a medical clinic. He might have gotten the drug there, five finger discount style."

"It's possible."

Jane bit her thumb, as the gears churned in her head. "Thanks, Susie. And Dr. Pike, please, the autopsy report, when you can."

Pike rudely said, "Plebs."

"Excuse me?" Jane's temper flared, yet again. "Was that a sneeze? Or did you have something to say, Dr. Pike?"

"Plebs." Susie explained, "It's Latin for 'common folk'."

"Well, in that case, folk you too, Pike!" Jane pushed the door open with her booty. "Not you, Susie, I love you."

\- o -

The dial tone barely rang when the call was immediately picked up.

"9-1-1 dispatch. What is your emergency?"

The man coughed into the receiver.

"Hello? Is somebody there?"

"I'm here." The man cleared his throat once more. "I think I was bitten by the love bug. I feel warm and fuzzy everywhere."

"What is your emergency, Sir?"

"I think I have a situation, in my pants. Will you be able to come take a look-see for me?"

The operator hummed in annoyance. "This line is for emergencies only. Any misuse and abuse can —"

"I'm just kidding!" The man said, "Jesus. I'm calling because I have a present for you. Listen carefully. A shipment is coming in direct from Peru. The container ID is PR #0938, via the Black Fallon Cruise Terminal, in South Boston. The manifest for the container should be marked and labeled: coffee beans."

"What is your name, Sir?"

"My name is Cocaine. And I'm overweight. I weigh approximately six tonnes, and have an estimated street worth $600 million. But I'm planning on joining Weight Watchers soon, or Jenny Craig, whichever is on sale on Groupon."

"Please stay on the line."

"Geez. You're so serious, you know that? Not even a chuckle." The man kissed his teeth, "I've said what I needed to say. Have yourself a wonderful day."

And with that, the call ended as abruptly as it began.

\- o -

"Oh, come on, Frost! The thing's not your personalized toy. I want to use it, too!"

"You have to take a full seminar before you're qualified." Barry swatted Korsak's hand away. "This isn't an easy-bake oven. You don't press a few keys, and go, voilà."

"That's bullshit. How hard can it be?"

"Hey! Ho! You guys want to stop fighting like a couple of sorority girls, and help me solve a homicide?"

Frost said, "Sorry."

Korsak quietly trudged back to his desk.

"Can you pull up the victim's file?"

"Yep. I've got it right here." Barry did just that, "Christopher Mullins. Twenty eight. Single. No criminal record. Perfect credit. Ivy league graduate."

"But his prints are in the system. Where's that from?"

"Juvy. The records were expunged when he turned eighteen." Korsak answered, "But it shouldn't be anything too serious. The presiding judge only imposed a hundred hour of community service."

Jane asked, "Any connections to known criminal affiliates? The Irish mob, perhaps?"

"If there is one, we haven't found it yet. Mullins was an only child. Parents are retired, and currently residing in Essex. No immediate next of kin."

"Are there any connections that indicate our first and second victim knew Christopher Mullins?"

"Like Frost said, if there is one, we haven't found it yet." Korsak said, "Our first victim, Mario Martinez, is the cousin of Luis Martinez. Luis Martinez is a low level loan shark for the Italians. And our second vic, Elmy Boyle, his brother Elson is currently serving five years in max over at Lancaster."

Jane bit her thumb, and tapped her foot. "That's what's bugging me, too. The first two victims, their gang affiliations were so cut and dry, but this? This guy doesn't seem to fit the profile. Do you guys feel the same way, too?"

"Maybe he saw something he wasn't supposed to? Wrong place, at the wrong time, sort of thing." Barry suggested. "Maybe it's not even gang related. It could be a legit homicide case."

Jane's gut was telling her something: hunger; upset stomach; indigestion; and something about this case was amiss.

"Korsak, you hear back from Intelligence yet?"

"Nothing yet. You can't rush this, Jane. The CHB is Doyle's only daughter, and heir to his clandestine empire, it's only logical he'll want to protect his daughter's identity ferociously. It's going to take some time."

"It's just so frustrating!" Jane grunted. "I can't even put a face to the woman that's been wrecking havoc on Boston, and my sleep schedule."

"I've got to hand it to Doyle, he's really outdone himself. Think about it. By keeping CHB's identity under wraps, it gives her the freedom to elude surveillance, and lower the Italians' guards. It's a win-win situation for Doyle. You can't protect yourself from what you can't see. It's got the Italians on the edge of their seat, and jumping at their own shadows."

"Are you planning to start a Facebook page for Paddy Doyle?" Barry asked, "If you aren't, then enough with the ass kissing."

"Susie found minor traces of Benzo in Mullins' system. Frost, can you print up the address of the clinic he worked at?"

"Printing now."

And that's when Sean Cavanaugh came crashing into BRIC. Not only was he out of breath, but his sudden appearance caught the team off guard.

"Guys, DCU needs backup. There's a huge shipment docking to port, and the Commissioner wants all available hands on deck. If this tip is credible, this will be the biggest coke bust in Boston history. We need people in the field to man the road blocks."

"Anything you need, Sir."

"You got it, Sean."

"Great. Frost and Korsak, let's go. Jane, you man homicide. I already have Frankie on deck; one Rizzoli's enough." And with that, Cavanaugh hurried off with Korsak and Frost in tow.

Jane threw her hands up, with a look of disbelief on her face. What the fuck just happened? In less time than it takes to sign up for Netflix, BRIC was emptied, and so was half of homicide.

The time read four nineteen PM. There was still plenty of time and sunlight left. Why waste it? Jane grabbed the printout from the printer, and her jacket. If she couldn't be a part of the drug bust, at the very least, she could catch a killer. That was always fun, too.

\- o -

"Another big breath."

Ashley inhaled.

"And exhale slowly."

Ashley exhaled.

Maura took her stethoscope off.

"Have a seat."

Ashley pulled her shirt back down.

Maura pulled her prescription pad out. "You have early signs and symptoms of the influenza. You have mild chest congestions, and you're a bit feverish. I'm going to prescribe you a course of Laninamivir; they're antibiotics. I want you to take them three times a day, after each meal, for one week. I cannot stress this enough, Ashley, but you have to finish the entire course. You're going to experience relief from the symptoms, but whatever you do, don't stop the regime. If you do, and the symptoms reappear, the medication won't be as effective due to drug resistance."

"Yes, Dr. Isles, I promise I'll finish them. I'm not a child anymore, you know." Ashley whined, "I'm a grown woman with a child of her own."

"Bearing an offspring has no bearing on a person's level of maturity. The youngest mother to give birth was just nine years old. Just because you have a child, does not equate to you not being a child, metaphorically, of course, in your case."

Ashley smiled at that long and awkward explanation. "You keep getting weirder and weirder every time I see you, Dr. Isles. You need to get out more."

"I get out aplenty. My vitamin D intake levels are 25mgs a day, all via natural sunlight. Plus, I garden during the weekends, and attend as many elective seminars as I can. You know, the Boston Health Public Commission has —"

"Not in the literal sense, Dr. Isles. I mean, you know, expanding your social network."

"Oh." Maura did a double take. "Well, I do mingle at these functions, so there's that."

"Sure. Whatever you say, Dr. Isles." Ashley said halfheartedly. She took the prescription and waved, "See you next week."

Maura watched Ashley go. That was that. She was the last patient of the day.

There was a knock on the door, and Samantha popped her head in. "Dr. Isles. I have your brother on line three. And I have a detective here that wants to speak with you."

"A detective?" Maura was surprised. "Regarding what, exactly?"

"I didn't ask."

"That's fine, Sam. Please, send him in. You can lock up and go. I'll clean up."

"You sure, Dr. Isles?"

"Yes. Have a lovely evening, Sam." Maura smiled sweetly.

"Thanks. You, too."

When the door closed, Maura picked up line three. "Dr. Isles, speaking."

"Doctor! Help me. I have these wicked headaches, and my chest is tight. I can't breathe. I think I'm dying!"

"The chances of you dying from Herpes Simplex One, or Chlamydia Trachomatis, is far greater than that of you dying from an infectious disease, based on your promiscuous sexual behaviors."

"Ew. Never talk to me about sex. Ever. Again."

"What do you want, Finn?" Maura's tone deepened, "I told you not to call the clinic, unless it's an absolute must."

"Oh, relax. I'm using a burner phone. It's untraceable." Finn's light hearted tone darkened, "I've called in the tip. The entire Boston police department is swarming the place, as we speak."

"Good. Let them do the leg work for us." Maura began playing with her pen. "There's a detective here at MEND. I don't know what for. But I think it might have something to do with Chris's death."

"Do you want me to handle it?"

"No!" Maura replied sharply. "I can handle it. I want you to stay put."

There was another knock at the door.

"We'll talk soon." Maura immediately ended the call. "Come in."

When Samantha initially said detective, Maura expected to see a man in his mid forties, in a tacky suit, with a big bulging gut for a stomach, a receding hairline, and a look of fatigue creased into his wrinkles. Less than 10% of the Boston Police Force were compromised of women. So imagine Maura's surprise, when she finally laid eyes on this particular detective.

The detective was tall. She was lean, but with define muscles; it gave her an athletic appearance. She had a head of luscious dark chestnut hair, that ran well past her shoulders. And her features, they were sharp and eye catching. And those deep, sharp dimples; it's every plastic surgeon's dream come true.

"Detective Jane Rizzoli."

Maura got up, and accepted the hand that was offered. "Dr. Maura Isles."

The moment their hands touched, an immediate connection was made.

\- o -


	3. Chapter 2: Closeted

**CH 2: Closeted**

"Please, have a seat."

"Thank you for seeing me, Dr. Isles."

The first thing Maura noticed was her voice. It was deep, raspy, and definitely unique. If Maura had to use one word to describe that voice, it would be sultry.

"How may I be of service, Detective?"

"I'm with Boston homicide. I would like to ask you a few questions about your employee: Christopher Mullins."

"Wait! What?!" Maura clasped her hand to her mouth in disbelief. "Did something happen to Chris?!"

Jane had delivered countless death notifications; too many to count, too often to remember. But it never gets easier. Never. "I'm sorry to say this, but Christopher Mullins was found DOA this morning. We're treating the case as a suspicious death."

"Oh, God!"

"I'm sorry for your loss." Jane meant it. "I'm hoping you can tell me more about Mullins."

"Yes…I mean, of course, anything you need."

Jane pulled out her notepad. "What was his job here at the clinic?"

"He's a registered nurse aide. He provides assistance to both the nurses and I. MEND is a non-profit organization that provides healthcare to those that are underprivileged, and to those that otherwise cannot afford Medicare. I'm the only registered physician here, and Chris was the only nurse aide we had on staff."

"Why didn't you report him missing when he didn't come in today?"

Maura shook her head, "Chris took the entire week off. He gave us advanced notice. So when he didn't come in today, I thought nothing of it."

"Took a week off, huh?" Jane jotted that down. "Did he say why? Or what for?"

"No. I didn't ask. I try not to pry too much into my staffs' personal lives. If they want to share, I'm more than willing to lend an open ear, but if they don't want to talk, I rarely ask."

Maura observed the detective with careful eyes. She noted her every movement, posture, breath, and micro-expression.

"This drug, Benzo..."

Maura couldn't help herself, "…Benzodiazepine."

Jane smiled politely. "Yes. Do you have that specific drug on premise?"

Maura nodded. "Yes. We do. But the drug is in a restricted section of the clinic. Only I have access to the immediate area."

"Do you mind showing me where it's kept?"

"Why do you want to see the drug cage?" Maura asked curiously.

Jane didn't see a reason to beat around the bush. "We found small traces of the drug, Benzo, in Christopher Mullins' system at the time of his death. I just want to make sure that he didn't get the Benzo from this clinic."

"I don't like what you're insinuating, Detective." Maura said sternly.

"I'm not insinuating anything, Dr. Isles." Jane raised an assuring hand. "I just want to clear up a few details. If the Benzo wasn't taken from MEND, he must have gotten it somewhere else. And if so, I'll have to chase that lead down, if need be. The detective's guide to solving a murder, rule number one: process of elimination."

"I do like the process of elimination. It is by far one of my favorite iterative methods." Maura was excited, and she couldn't hide it. "The method is effectively applied when there is a logical structure that acts as a bases between answers. And therefore, elimination would adhere to a logical consequence."

Jane sat there, with a contorted look written on her face. She had no clue what the doctor was rambling about, and she sure as Hell wasn't going to jot any of that down.

Maura sensed the awkwardness, but brushed it aside with a quick shrug. "Sorry. That was the mathematician in me talking. Let's go, Detective. I'll show you the drug cage, if it'll help with your investigation."

"Jane."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm Jane. You don't have to 'detective this' or 'detective that'. You can call me, Jane."

"Oh." Maura held the door open, "Well, then, I insist you call me, Maura. Only my patients call me, Dr. Isles. So unless you're looking for a new family doctor, you should call me, Maura."

Something about this felt nice; a bit odd, but nice. There was a sense of familiarity, but between strangers; a sense of comfortableness, but yet, professional. Jane couldn't wrap her mind around the sensation, much less explain it.

MEND wasn't particularly grand nor spacious. It was a small clinic located at the heart of Southie. Jane had heard about MEND through Ma, but this was her first time setting foot in the place. For a doctor as stunning and accomplished as Dr. Maura Isles, she could've opted to start her own private practice, and roll in the greens. But instead, she chose to work for a non-profit organization, for a bare minimum wage, no overtime, long hours, and not to the mention the ungrateful patients you'll often encounter. And for that, Jane respected Maura Isles immensely.

The drug cage was at the very back of the clinic, in a restricted area. The cage was composed of a chain link fence. It was something you expected to see in prison, but not in a civilian clinic. Maura unlocked the door.

"Here it is. Feel free to look around."

"Can you show me where the Benzo is kept?"

"Right here." Maura pointed at the bottles on the third shelf, "All three bottles. It's all there."

"Huh."

"Is something the matter?"

Jane tapped her foot, and said, "If Mullins didn't get the Benzo here, where else could he have gotten the drug from? It's abused recreationally, yes, but it's not prevalent. You won't find any dealers on any random street corner that deals Benzo, that's for sure."

Maura pondered for a second, "I see what you mean. I'm not quite sure where I would begin to look either."

"Thanks, Doc…I mean, Maura."

The drug cage was small and cramped. With the shelves on one side, and janitorial supplies on the other, you could only get in and out via single file formation. Jane was in deep thought when she walked blindly and slipped on a piece of cable wire. Jane tried catching herself, but her hands had nothing to grab onto, and she would've fallen on her ass, too, if not for Maura's strong arms and sturdy body."

"Careful, Jane."

Jane exhaled sharply, "Woah. Nice catch, Doc."

"I didn't have a choice. You were of such a close proximity to me, if I hadn't caught you, I would've been thrown back by the force of your fall. It's also commonly known as the domino effect."

Jane stared at the petite woman, with a look of unmistakable amusement on her face. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Talk Google."

For the first time in a long while, Maura was at a loss for words. "I'm not quite following you."

"Never mind." Jane chuckled. "Thank you, Maura, for being so helpful. If you recall anything, even if you feel like it's something insignificant or obsolete, please don't hesitate to ring me."

Maura took Jane's business card. "I will. I want you to catch those responsible for Chris' murder."

Jane corrected her, "Suspicious death. Our M.E hasn't ruled it a homicide yet."

"Of course. Let me show you out." Maura showed Jane the front door. The clinic was closed, and its doors locked. "It was nice meeting you, Detective Rizzoli."

"You be careful, Dr. Isles. Southie isn't exactly safe after dark."

Maura smiled at Jane's sincerity. "Thank you. But I grew up in South Boston. Trust me when I tell you, I know how to take care of myself."

"Goodnight, Maura."

"Goodnight, Jane."

\- o -

"Good evening. On the broadcast tonight: Boston's very own Drug Control Unit received a creditable tip that led to the largest narcotic seizure in Boston history. A total of six metric ton of cocaine was seized, with an estimated street value of $600 million. Fourteen men, including five Peruvian nationals, were arrested —"

"Fuck!"

Lou Giovanni had heard enough. He whipped the controller directly at the flat screen mounted on the wall. The fragile screen cracked in five places. Dario was more hot headed than his brother. He walked up, and tore the screen off the mount, and smashed it as hard as he could to the floor. He stomped the pieces to Hell.

"Aldo! That motherfucker sold us out!"

"Aldo may have sold us out, but what good does that do him? We both know who the mastermind behind this mess is."

Dario's nostrils flared, "Fucking Irish pigs! This isn't over! This is not over!"

Lou buried his face in his hands. "We can deal with Paddy Doyle, and that spawn of his, later. What I'm worried about are the Colombians. Where the fuck are we going to get $600 million from?!"

That thought hadn't even crossed Dario's mind, until now. The Colombians were notoriously ruthless. They will not hesitate to massacre your entire family, if it meant getting their way. "That's what the Irish wants! They want to pit the Colombians against us, and drive us out of town! Those sneaky Irish fucks!"

That's exactly what Lou was thinking, too. This was bad. If word got out on the street that it was their negligence that ultimately led to the bust, there was no doubt in Lou's mind that the Colombians were going execute them in cold blood. Their families won't be spared. And then there was the Russian buyer: Michael Vikram. They had taken a deposit for the shipment. If the Colombians didn't finish them off, this Vikram mobster surely would. Between the Colombians and the Russians, they were stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"What should we do, Lou?!"

"Let me handle this. Don't do anything brash. That's what Doyle's people are bagging on, so don't give them the satisfaction. You hear me?"

"Oh, I'm calm, brother." Dario's voice was thin, "I'm thinking clearly, alright. If Doyle wants to mess with us, then we'll fight fire with fire. He's already fucked us over, what have we got to lose?!"

"What do you have in mind?"

Dario pulled his phone out, and dialed a single number.

"Aw, shit, Dario!"

"Pablo. You and your boys want to make some fast cash?"

"Is Bill Cosby creepy?" Pablo asked rhetorically. "Hell yeah! Whatcha have in mind?"

"I want you to help me fight fire with fire, and hit Paddy Doyle where it hurts."

"Aw, shit, man! How much you paying first?"

"For every building you torch, I'll give you $1000, cash. I want all of Southie up in flames!"

"Aw, shit, man! I ain't never turn down easy money."

"Get to it, then. You do not want to disappoint me, Pablo."

\- o -

Finn tilted his head back, with a glazed look in his eyes. This wasn't her first rodeo; the woman was as skilled with her hands as she was with her mouth. Finn loved it when a bit of her teeth would gently graze his shaft, but only lightly. Names weren't necessary for this transaction. He wasn't looking for a relationship. When the deed was done, she'll get paid, and he would've gotten off; a win-win situation for both parties The blonde made this horrible slurping sound every time she sucked; it was a turn off for Finn, but she was doing such a darn good job, he didn't have the heart to tell her.

From a nearby counter, his phone went off. Finn yanked the woman off his dick, reached over, and picked up.

"How may I help you, Dr. Isles?"

"Have you seen the evening news?"

"I don't need to see it to know what's happening. I was there."

"Have you put the word out yet?"

"I got Ronnie and Tomlin running around town, and blabbing that big mouth of theirs. Give it time. It's like broken telephone. And we both know how much fun that can be. By this time tomorrow, the Giovannis will have no place to run, and nowhere to hide."

"Good." Maura sighed, "Have you eaten yet?"

Finn eyed the blonde, "Not yet. But I'm about to."

"Alright. Enjoy. I'll see you soon."

And with that, Finn ended the call.

"You know I'm charging by the hour, right?"

Finn lifted the blonde like a doll, and threw her down on the couch. "I've got all night, sweet cheeks."

Finn took his manhood, and skimmed it gently outside of the woman's opening. He tapped his cock against her clit, repeatedly, to tease her, play with her, and toy with her. Then in one fluid motion, Finn penetrated her. The warm sensation of flesh against his sensitive skin was a feeling like no other.

This was going to be a fun night after all.

\- o -

Some people dedicated their lives to philanthropy, some to power, money, fame, wealth, their family and friends, perhaps. But for Jane, she dedicated her life to her job; to know that her efforts would somehow make a difference. After MEND, Jane headed home for a quick shower and a much needed power nap. She didn't like to sleep, not when she was working an active case.

By the time Jane set foot in BPD again, it was well past dinner time, and more along the lines of The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon. But you wouldn't know it given the chaos in homicide. The place was buzzing with life. People came and went, seats were filled, phones were ringing off the hook, and a guy in a Wally the Green Monster costume — the official mascot for the Boston Red Sox — was sitting at her desk. Besides a few familiar faces, Jane didn't recognize any of the agents from DCU, FBI, or CSRU.

"Jane? What are you doing in?"

Jane gestured at the crowd, "What the Hell, Korsak? Are we filming a flash mob dance sequence to Watch Me Whip/Nae Nae?"

"I wish." Korsak said, "DCU just busted the single, largest shipment of cocaine in Boston history. It's all over the news."

"Cavanaugh did mention that, yeah, but he also said the tip might be a false alarm."

Korsak shrugged, and said, "Well, it's credible, alright. Six metric ton. That's enough coke to feed all the coke addicts in Boston for three whole months."

Jane had no idea.

Korsak pushed Jane out of BRIC. "You're officially off the clock. Go home, and get some shut eye. We'll pick up where we left off tomorrow, after we clear this mess."

Jane didn't want to argue with Korsak; not when she agreed with him, wholeheartedly. "Alright. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

"I did ring you. To give you a heads up: steer clear of BPD. But you didn't pick up."

"My phone hasn't rang all night." Jane patted her pockets. And then her blazer. She didn't have her cell phone with her. Come to think of it, she hasn't seen her cell phone all afternoon.

"You lost your phone?" Korsak asked. "There's no point calling. Nobody picked up."

Jane ran a hand through her thick locks, as she retraced her steps. She was certain she had it with her when she left BPD this afternoon. And it wasn't home. She was wearing the same clothes from before. It had to be at MEND. It must have fallen from her shallow pockets when she nearly slipped and fell.

"Crap."

It wasn't the phone Jane was fretting about, it was the contact information she had stored within. It held all her confidential informant's contact information, and their official CI numbers. If that information was ever leaked, or fell into the wrong hands, not only would it jeopardize the integrity of her investigations, but also the lives of all her informants as well. This was serious.

"I have to go."

Jane crossed the room, and pulled her bottom drawer open. She placed her department issued Glock 17C inside, and locked it. It was fast approaching ten o'clock. Jane couldn't wait till morning. She was counting on security to have a copy of the keys to MEND. Even if it was a long shot, Jane had to try. There was nothing more important than the lives of her CIs; it was a lesson she had to learn the hard way.

\- o -

Maura's white lab coat was on the hanger. The moment the clock struck five, and she was off duty, she would be in her regular clothes; it was a habit she picked up during her junior year residency. The sound of fingers on keyboard filled the tiny office; Maura's undivided concentration was drawn to the screen. Maura didn't overtime too often, not unless there was an emergency, or it was an absolute necessity. The reason for tonight's overtime though, was the latter of the two reasons. She had to finish this grant proposal, and submit it to the Peabody Medical Advancement foundation before the upcoming deadline, which was this Friday.

The survival of MEND depended on this grant proposal. It stressed Maura to no ends, but the ends definitely justified the means. Should her grant proposal be accepted, and the foundation paid out, not only will it guarantee the survival of MEND for the coming fiscal year, it'll also mean the organization could finally afford to hire more physicians, nurses, and the purchase of more medical equipment, and payment for maintenance and upkeeps.

The office had long closed. But yet, a familiar sound caught Maura's ear. It was the unmistakable sound of a fist pounding against steel. Maura wasn't the least bit concerned for her safety; she was more curious than anything else, to know who it was that was making the ruckus. During the day, MEND was accessible through the front doors, but come nighttime, after five o'clock, a storefront steel gate would be lowered, to protect the premise from potential intruders. South Boston wasn't the safest place after dark. And then there was the fact that MEND had an array of heavy opiated based narcotics in inventory; the storefront gate provided that extra safeguard for peace of mind.

The incessant banging had stopped by the time Maura got to the doors. Whoever it was most likely left. Just as Maura was about to head back to her office, a familiar voice caught her ears.

"Oh, come on! You can't afford to hire a security guard, but you can afford a steel fortress?!"

"Jane?"

A moment of silence was followed by, "Maura?"

"Hold on." Maura quickly ran back to her office, and grabbed her keys. She unlocked the front gate, and pulled it high enough for Jane to squeeze in.

"What are you doing here so late?"

"I could ask you the same." Jane replied. "And why don't you have security guards on patrol?"

"We can't afford to hire a guard. That's why we opted to install a steel gate. And for your information, to hire a permanent guard can cost anywhere between $30,000 to $45,000 a year. The steel gate, including the cost of installation, was only an affordable $3500, with a limited ten year manufacturing warranty."

Jane chuckled and rubbed her neck. "So you heard me, huh?"

"Even Canada heard you, Jane."

Before Jane could stop herself, she said, "I like you better like this. You're way funnier when you're not Dr. Isles."

"Well, thank you, I think." Maura asked again, "So, why are you here?"

"The drug cage!" Jane almost forgot. "I think I dropped my cell phone in the drug cage this afternoon, you know, when I almost fell."

"You came back in the middle of the night for your cell phone?"

"I'm not worried about my phone, per se. My phone contains a lot of privileged contact information. I won't be able to sleep tonight without knowing it's safe."

Maura simply nodded. She didn't verbalize it, but from their short time together, she could tell Jane was a good detective.

The lights in the office were dim, with the exception of the fluorescent lights in the hallway. When Maura unlocked the drug cage, Jane didn't have to look high and low to find her phone; it was lying on the cold floor, next to the dust pan.

"Found it. But the battery's dead, though."

"You're just lucky that I —"

Maura was cut off midsentence when Jane held a finger to her lips. Maura took the hint and stopped dead in her tracks.

"Listen."

There were light footsteps, and the sound of faint whispers.

"Did you remember to lock the gate?"

A sense of shock and instant regret was painted on Maura's face. "No. I forgot to relock it when I let you in."

Jane instinctively reached for the Glock on her belt, but was met only with emptiness. It had completely slipped her mind: her gun was in her drawer, when she clocked out of BPD.

"Shit!" Jane cursed. "How many voices do you hear?"

"At least two. I can't be sure."

"I hear three."

This wasn't good; far from it, this was disastrous. If Jane had been alone, she could make a run for it, but with Maura in tow, that wasn't possible. They were at the very back of the clinic, with no accessible emergency exits within sight. There was an emergency fire exit in the break room, but that was too far down the hallway. Jane couldn't risk it. The murmurs weren't far off.

Jane reasoned, "There's only one reason why anybody would want to break into a medical clinic."

Maura couldn't agree more. "For the narcotics."

"We'll give them what they want, and they'll leave." Jane grabbed Maura's hand and gripped it tight for reassurance; she just wasn't sure who it was that needed the reassurance. "Leave the cage open."

"There's a broom closet, to the right. It's small, but it'll do. They won't notice it with the dim lighting."

Jane entered first, followed by Maura. To say the closet was cramped would be an understatement. With barely three inches of space between their bodies, Jane could feel Maura's breath upon her lips.

"If anything happens, I'll hold them back, and you make a run for it." Jane whispered. "Whatever you do, don't look back."

"If there's only three of them, it's us against them. I like those odds."

"No." Jane snapped. "We don't know if they're armed, or if they're high as kites. It's too dangerous."

"But still, I don't —"

Jane clasped her hand over Maura's mouth. The sound of murmurs were no longer from afar. It was right outside their door.

"Aw, shit, man! I told you! Easy as pie. We're gonna torch this place anyways, so why not help ourselves to the candy store, man!"

"Just hurry up, Pablo. This place is creepy as fuck."

"Hand me the bag."

Jane held up three fingers, to indicate the number of intruders there were.

"Alright! Grab those chains!"

"Go in there, and lock that door."

A pair of heavy boots sprinted down the hallway.

"Pour faster, Manny! Get it on the walls, too. Oh! And on that ugly ass painting in the corner. Send it back to Hell."

"It's empty."

"Aw, shit, man! Whatever. Let's get the fuck outta here."

Maura brought her lips to Jane's ear, "Do you smell that?"

"Yeah. I do." Jane squeezed Maura's hand. She recognized that smell from anywhere. "It's gasoline."


	4. Chapter 3: Hurricane Maura

**CH 3: Hurricane Maura**

Finn pulled his pants back up. He then causally threw down $300 on the coffee table.

"What's the extra $200 for?"

Finn gave the cigarette a slow drag and said, "Your son's birthday is coming up. Get him a present. And take him out for a nice dinner, too. Don't spend it all on crack, you hear me?"

The blonde gave Finn a quick peck on the cheek, "Thanks, Finny. Bye."

Finn watched her go.

He wasn't halfway done his cigarette when his phone rang. But it wasn't his cellphone. No. It was his home phone that rang. It was odd. Nobody ever called him on his landline. Finn got up, and grabbed his cordless receiver. The caller ID was one he recognized.

"Why the Hell are you calling my house?"

"You're cellphone's dead." Ronnie said, "Listen. Tomlin and I were running around town, spreading the word about the drug bust today. We got wind that the Giovannis paid some druggie to torch Southie. We're worried they might go after MEND. I tried calling Maura, to give her a heads up and steer clear of her office, but all her calls go unanswered."

Finn plugged his phone into the charger, and waited for the home screen to load. "She gave me a call an hour ago. She should be at home and in bed by now."

When Finn saw the caller ID, his blood froze. He had been too preoccupied to notice it before. Maura had called him using her office number. She was still at MEND!

"I have to go." But before Finn disconnected, he said, "And find me the Giovannis. I'm going to kill them myself."

\- o -

The moment the murmurs were gone, Jane practically burst from the closet.

Maura grabbed two washcloths, and soaked them in water. "Here, Jane, cover your airway."

The arsonists had left via the front door, and upon their departure, ignited the gasoline. The front of MEND was hit the hardest. Fortunately for them, they were at the very back, which bought them some time, but not a lot.

Jane grabbed Maura's hand, and made a beeline for the break room. Jane noted a fire hose box, along with a fire extinguisher inside. But that was of no use to them. Not now. The fire was far too ferocious to attempt to extinguish. The emergency exit was a reinforced steel door. The push bar had been chained.

"Motherfuckers!" Jane rattled the chain in frustration. She delivered several well timed kicks to the latch, but the reinforced steel wouldn't budge; not a single inch. "Are there any windows?"

Maura was visibly distressed, though she did her best to remain collected. "No. All the windows are barred."

And that's when Jane became distraught, when the brutal realization hit her. The security measures that kept intruders out of MEND, were the same factors that were keeping them in. They were trapped.

Maura grabbed several more dish towels, soaked them in water, and lined the sliver underneath the doorway, in an attempt to buy them more time.

Jane refused to die, not here, not like this. She paced the break room, back and forth, in desperation for something; anything. Her eyes scanned every inch of the room, in hopes that something will catch. And it did. She noticed something. There on the ceiling tile, by the corner, were stain marks. After thirty-two years of being a plumber's daughter, Jane recognized those stains from anywhere: they were from water damages. And that's when it struck her.

"The water pipes!" Jane shouted, "That's it!"

"What?"

"These old buildings are structurally different from modern day ones. I've done plenty of re-routing work with my Pa to know. The pipelines run through the ceiling, as opposed through the floor to an underground sewage system."

Jane dragged over a table. She shifted the popcorn ceiling tile aside, and there in the very corner, was a tiny crawl space that resembled an air vent. It had drain pipes leading out the office.

"Give me your hand."

Maura kicked off her heels, and did just that.

"I'm going to lift you up. I want you to crawl as fast as you can. We're on the ground floor, so there's going to be a vertical drop into the basement. Grab the pipelines, and shimmy your way down."

Maura refused to let go, "What about you?"

"I'll be right behind you." Jane didn't give Maura a choice. She hoisted Maura over her shoulders, and into the tight crawl space.

Maura was torn. A cloud of dark smoke had seeped through the doorway. She didn't want to leave without Jane.

"Go, Maura! Or we'll both die here!"

Maura balled her fist tight. And she relented. She crawled as fast as she could away from the fire.

Jane hopped off the table, and felt the door with her palm. It was unbearably hot to the touch. The fact that an accelerant was used, now add on the fact that there was no way to ventilate, the overall temperature in the clinic had to be fast approaching 590°C. A flashover was imminent. If that happened, they'll both die. Jane had to act. And she had to act fast.

Jane tied the wet washcloth around her face, and she ventured out into the hallway. By now the entire clinic was consumed in nothing but Hell fire. Jane grabbed the fire hose, and she turned on the pump. The initial force of the hose was too strong and unexpected; it knocked her against the door frame with unadulterated brute force. But through it all, Jane remained on her two feet. Jane sprayed the water up and down. To the unexperienced, the effort would seem futile. But Jane knew better. Because of the accelerant, the chances of her extinguishing the fire were next to none. But that wasn't the point of this. The point was to get the temperature to cool down, and maybe, just maybe, it'll delay the imminent flashover. The water would also release oxygen into the closed space. If she couldn't ventilate, this was her next best option to quell the black smoke.

Jane threw down the hose, and turned up the water pressure. The fire hose recoiled wildly like an untamed cobra dance. She closed the door behind her, and made for the tight crawl space. Jane tried her best to pull herself up. On a good day, she would be able to do three sets of ten, body weight pullups, easily and effortlessly. But not today. And most definitely not now. Jane looked down at her left arm. It was bruised and swelling. The force of the blow from earlier must have sprained it. And unfortunately for her, she was left handed.

Jane tried again, and without fail, she dropped faster than dead weight. Jane found herself dizzied. The room around her was spinning in circles, and triangles, every other kind of geometric shape. The chronic fatigue of a twenty-four hour shift, and now combined with the smoke inhalation, Jane felt nauseous and feeble.

But she refused to die. Not when she was so close. With one final breath, and all the energy and might she could summon, Jane pulled herself up once more, as her legs kicked fiercely for leverage.

Then from seemingly out of nowhere, the entire clinic filled with this crackling sound. It sounded like a mixture of kernels popping, and pop snaps going off. This went on for a while.

And then it happened. A flashover ignited as a giant fireball with 500lbs of force consumed everything in its merciless path. Nothing was pardoned. And nobody was spared.

\- o -

The thermostat had been cranked up. If you thought July in Mumbai was bad, this was three times worse than that. Frankie had taken this technique right out of the FBI interrogation handbook. Due to the heat, and lack of relief, the perp will do everything in his power to escape the feeling of claustrophobia associated with being in an oven. But the handbook must have missed this guy. He wasn't giving Frankie jack-shit.

The man appeared to be in his late thirties, with a heavy scruff. There was nothing that jumped out about him. That was until he rolled up his sleeves, on account of the extreme heat. There on his forearm, was a Popeye tattoo; how awfully cliché of him.

"Look. As soon as your prints come back, if they're in the system, we'll have it anyways. So why don't you spare yourself the misery, and start talking."

The man said not a word.

"You're really going to do this? We busted you on the ship red-handed. And you're going to sit here, and play dumb?"

The man finally said, "You can talk to my lawyer, at 1-800-GET-BENT."

"Oh! You're funny, too!" Frankie said sarcastically. "Well, listen, I'm sure they'll appreciate your charming sense of humor when your ass is getting torn in two. They'll have their arm so far up your —"

A knock sounded at the door.

Korsak popped in, "Frankie. Got a moment?"

"We're not done here, jackass." Frankie closed the door behind him. "Couldn't this wait, Vince? I was in the middle of something."

"No. It can't. I just got a page from dispatch. There's been multiple three alarm fires down in Southie."

"Okay." Frankie said dubiously. "What's that got to do with homicide?"

"Jane's cruiser was parked outside one of the buildings. It's in pretty bad shape." Vince said tensely, "She's nowhere to be found either. And her cell goes direct to voicemail."

"No…" Frankie stepped back as a shockwave coursed through him. "I have to be there."

"I'll drive you." Vince offered. "Frost volunteered to stay. He'll finish up here."

Frankie couldn't breathe; his heart was in his throat.

Neither of them wanted to admit it: they prayed for the best, but braced themselves for the worst.

\- o -

The black tinted SUV rolled into the driveway.

"Grab Silvia and the kid. Leave everything else. You hear me?"

"Yeah."

Lou waited in the car. They had to skip town. They had to stay one step ahead of the Colombians, and let's not forget the Irish. They were closing in, and fast. It was now or never. Lou opened his glove compartment, and pulled out a Browning 9mm. He checked his clip.

Lou waited, and waited, and waited. Dario was nowhere to be seen. And that's when his phone rang.

"What the fuck's taking so long, Dario?"

"Lou, can you give me a hand? Dante's throwing a tantrum." Dario said calmly, "And Silva's still packing."

"Jesus Christ." Lou sighed.

Dante was his eight year old nephew. He also had non-verbal autism. His main form of communication was via writing, and his drawings. He was a good kid, different, but good, nonetheless. But every once in a while, he was prone to throw violent tantrums. And when he does, nothing will calm him.

Lou pushed open the front door. "Dario?"

"I'm in the living room."

Lou cut through the foyer. The moment he approached the living room, he was knocked from behind. The room had no less than ten men; they were all heavily armed. In the middle of the room was Silva. She was tied to a chair, and gagged. And worst yet, she was six months pregnant. She was not spared. Dante was unharmed. He stood off to one side of the room, with a look of thick confusion written on his young face. He couldn't understand what was happening, regardless of how hard he tried.

"What the fuck?!" Lou screamed, "Do you not have any honor?! Leave the woman and children out of this!"

Tomlin stood directly behind Silva. In his hand was a combat knife; its sharp and deadly blade was every bit as eye-catching. "Do not talk to me about honor. You voided that privilege, the moment you decided to torch half of Southie."

Two guys came up from behind, and patted Lou and Dario down.

"We can do this the easy way," Tomlin brought the precarious blade to rest on Silva's windpipe, "Or we can do this the hard way!"

"NO!" Dario screamed. "Please, don't, I'm begging you!"

"Good. The easy way it is, then."

Lou looked over. Dante was hiding behind a cabinet, his eyes watery and small. "Everything will be alright, buddy. Don't worry. You be a good boy, and you take care of mommy, okay?"

Lou and Dario had their hands zip tied, and had bags placed over their heads.

They cleared out as efficiently as they did coming in.

Tomlin was the last to leave. He cut the restraints off the woman. His next words were directed to Dante, and they were sincere, "Your father started this. And he deserves everything that's coming to him. I'm just sorry you had to witness it."

Dante didn't acknowledge any of that. He merely started at Tomlin with teary eyes.

\- o -

Maura was outside the building when the fire department arrived. She had waited for Jane in the basement for as long as she could. But when she was nowhere to be found, that's when panicked consumed her being. She could not bear the thought of having Jane's blood on her hands.

At the sight of the fire fighters, Maura immediately notified them of Jane's presence inside.

The fire fighters were geared up and ready to enter, when an unmistakable flashover sent them hurling back several meters. The force of the condensed fireball blew out every single window within the highrise building, and several vehicles out front, too.

Thirty minutes. That's how long it took the fire department to control the fire, and clear the building, from top to bottom. And when they finally reemerged, Jane was sandwiched between two bodies. They loaded her onto a stretcher. A paramedic handed Jane an oxygen mask.

"Jane!"

Jane Rizzoli was bruised, battered, and covered in soot, but was very much alive and kicking.

"We found this one in the basement, hidden in one of the old utility lockers."

The other fire fighter said, "You're lucky to be alive. If you hadn't found shelter when that flashover hit, you've been a goner."

Jane had a witty comment, but didn't bother; her throat felt inflamed.

"I waited for you! And when you weren't behind me, like you said you were going to be, I started freaking out. I know it isn't logical or rational, but I couldn't bring myself to think clearly." Maura talked with her hands as she rambled on, "Not a lot of people know, but one of the leading causes for fire fatalities is from smoke inhalation, and not from the actual fire itself."

Jane lowered her oxygen mask, "I'm fine. And you're doing it again."

"Yes. Talk Google. I'm quite aware, but I can't help myself." Maura squeezed Jane's hands, "Thank you, Jane."

"Janie!"

"Maura!"

Both the women turned at the sound of their names.

Frankie was thoroughly winded, but he didn't care. "Are you okay?! What happened?!"

"Maura?! Are you hurt?" Finn grabbed Maura and inspected her from head to toe. "Should you be standing? Someone get her a wheelchair!"

Both women said in unison, "I'm fine."

"Don't tell Ma, Frankie, I don't want her to worry about me."

Frankie kissed Jane on the forehead. "I'm just glad you're okay."

The medic asked, "Dr. Isles, are you sure you don't need transport?"

"Don't be stubborn, Maura, you should get yourself checked out."

"No. That's not necessary." Maura replied, "I'll seek medication attention if I feel the need to. Thank you."

The paramedics then loaded Jane into an ambulance. "Who's riding?"

"I am."

Maura broke free from Finn's embrace. "Where are you transporting the Detective?"

Finn repeated, "Detective?"

"Massachusetts General."

Maura nodded, "I'll visit you soon, Jane."

Maura and Finn watched the ambulance go until the rear lights disappeared.

And that's when Maura's face darkened noticeably, and frighteningly, so. In a tone that can only be described as a growl, she asked, "Who?"

"Lou and Dario Giovanni."

Maura's lips thinned, "And find me this guy named, Pablo, as well. I want him alive."

Finn merely nodded. This was the Maura he knew and loved.

\- o -

It was two in the morning, and tranquility has finally been restored to homicide. It was his third consecutive shift with only minimal sleep. Frost's eyes were weighing down heavily on him, to the point where he felt he could collapse right here, right now. Frost was at his desk, when his phone buzzed with two text messages. One of them was from Frankie, to update him on Jane's condition. She was well. And according to Frankie, well enough to cuss him off. The last message, well, that was just work.

Frost could've left hours ago, if he hadn't volunteered to take over Frankie's caseload from the earlier drug bust. But it was necessary, so he stayed.

Frost pulled up the file, and hit print. On his way out, he grabbed the printout, and a random uniform on the graveyard shift. The matter wasn't of significance, so he could pawn the workload.

"What's your name?"

"Bradley. Bradley Cooper, Sir."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, Sir."

Frost was too exhausted to poke fun of him. He handed Bradley Cooper the paperwork. "The guy in interrogation room five. Here's the paperwork. He has a couple of unpaid parking tickets. No red flags. Bring him downstairs for processing. And have him pay the fines."

"Um." Bradley stuttered, "Which…uh, room is five, again?"

Barry pointed, "Third door on the left. It's the guy that looks like Tarzan, with the hobo beard and bad Popeye tattoo."

"Got it. Thank you."

And that was it. He was finally done. When the elevator doors closed, Frost let out a giant yawn. It was finally over.

\- o -

They were in an industrial warehouse by the docks. The blow horns from the nearby ships were a dead giveaway.

Lou and Dario were on their knees, with their hands tied behind their backs. They ached terribly, though it wasn't their own safety they were concerned with.

"Don't you dare touch my wife, you fucking pigs!" Dario screamed, "Or I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you!"

Tomlin and Ronnie watched on, though neither showed any sympathy nor empathy for the Giovannis' current disposition.

The door banged, and in walked Finn with a disheveled Maura.

"Maura!" Ronnie grabbed her, "You alright?"

For the umpteenth time that evening, Maura said, "I'm fine."

Tomlin nodded his head as acknowledgement.

Maura wasn't in the mood to dick around. She approached the Giovannis, and got straight to the point. "Whose idea was it to torch Southie?"

Neither Lou nor Dario said anything.

Maura was at her wit's end, "This is your final warning. Speak now. Or I'll fucking surgically remove the fucking fetus from that lovely wife of yours! Now answer me! Who?!"

In a state of panic, Dario blurted, "Lou! It was Lou!"

"What the fuck?!" Lou yelled, "You fucking traitor!"

"It was all Lou's idea!" Dario sobbed manically, "I tried to stop him. I did! But he wanted payback! Please! I'm begging —"

Maura grabbed the combat knife from Tomlin's hand, and in one unforgiving thrust, she jabbed the blade through Dario's chest cavity. Though Maura was blinded by rage, her deadly precision remain unaffected. She pierced Dario Giovanni's heart with a clean through and through.

Dario Giovanni made this horrible gurgling sound.

Maura withdrew the knife in one swift retract, and she kicked Dario's limp body aside.

The reality of Dario's death sent a jolt of paralysis down Lou's spine. He couldn't bring himself to breathe, much less react.

Maura used the blade to tilt Lou's head, to look her in the eyes. "You will suffer a far less humane death, for all the innocent lives you've taken."

"YOU FUCKING CUNT!"

The sudden burst of raw emotion made Lou Giovanni freakishly strong. It took five men to subdue him.

Maura's next words were for Finn, "Make him suffer."

Finn hesitated, "Is this about that Detective?"

Maura didn't reply. She simply handed the bloodied knife back to Tomlin, and she walked out.

"Take him to the back room."

Finn's nickname was: The Bleeder. And Lou Giovanni was about to find out why.

\- o -

 **A/N: Drop a review.**


	5. CH 4: Out with the Old In with the New

**CH 4: Out with the Old; In with the New**

The phone rang, and it rang, and it rang.

The caller was persistent. And that perseverance paid off. Eventually, after God knows how many tries, the call was finally picked up.

"Hello."

"It's me. It's happened. My boys, they're gone."

The man said nothing.

"Silvia and Dante were spared, but Lou and Dario...they're gone!"

The woman sobbed hysterically, to the point where the she couldn't enunciate her words anymore.

The man exhaled heavily, and said, "Family takes care of family. I'll be there as soon as I can."

And with that statement, the call ended.

\- o -

"Mr. Patrick. Your ten o'clock is here."

Deval Patrick picked up the receiver, "I'm not taking any appointments today, Diane, and you know that. I have to be there for Nolan's first-string tryouts."

"I know, Mr. Patrick, but I didn't take the appointment; Mr. Murray did."

Deval should've known, Tim Murray, his Chief of Staff; that know-it-all prick. "Fine. Send them in."

The door to his chamber opened.

The moment his guest entered, Deval Patrick's tired eyes lit up. "My, my, what an unexpected surprise."

"Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Governor."

\- o -

Korsak, Frost, and Frankie were crowded in BRIC, going over the case notes on Christopher Mullins.

They looked like walkers, straight out of the Walking Dead. Frankie had these horrible bags underneath his eyes; Korsak hasn't shaven since he starred as an extra in Animal House; and Frost, well, he was wearing the same clothes from yesterday.

Since Homicide was able to link the previous victims to known gang affiliates, their case files were transferred over to the Gang Control Unit. Christopher Mullins was the only exception. He'll remain with Homicide. But that didn't help. They had no leads. On the outside, Christopher Mullins appeared to be just another Average Joe. The only red flag was his juvy record, but they were expunged. So unless there was a Hail Mary, the case will most likely end as a cold case.

"How much longer do we have to stare at that picture for?"

"For as long as it takes, Frankie." Korsak scolded, "This isn't amateur hour. If you want to be a detective, this is what it takes."

"No. It's not that." Frankie explained, "The more I look at that pic, the creepier Mullins gets."

"You did not just call our victim creepy." Barry shook his head disapprovingly, "You're a walking HR nightmare."

"Where are we with his juvy record?"

"I've called in a few favors. It'll take a bit of time, but we'll get them."

And that's when a woman rudely barged in unexpectedly. The way she carried herself, not to mention the cliché suit she was wearing, everything about her screamed Fed.

"Which one of you idiots is Barold Frost?"

"This idiot here," Barry answered. "And who the Hell are you?"

"DEA Senior Special Agent: Nina Holiday."

"The DEA?" Korsak said, "I thought DCU was taking lead of the Peruvian drug bust."

"They are. But that's not why I'm here." Nina held up a mug shot, and practically shoved it in Frost's face. "You recognize this man?"

It took Frost a moment, but he answered truthfully. "Yeah. Actually, I do. That's Tarzan. What about him?"

"You released him?"

"Frost! Not another word." Korsak stepped in, and physically inserted himself in between the two bodies. "Unless you tell us what this is about, Detective Frost will not say another word without his Union Rep present."

Nina gave Korsak the stink eye. But Korsak knew better; he didn't back down.

"Ho! Hey! Ho! What's with all the screaming?"

They all turned at the sound of that raspy voice. And there, in the door frame, in all her glorious glamour, was Jane Rizzoli. Besides the obvious arm sling, she looked refreshed and energized.

"Janie!" Frankie shouted, "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be on bed rest!"

"I'm fine, Frankie." Jane replied. "What's going on here?"

"The man you call, Tarzan, his real name is Julio Miguel Díaz. The man is wanted by the DEA for multiple drug trafficking charges. He's currently number eleven on The United States Marshals Service 15 Most Wanted Fugitives. And it's you, and you alone, Detective Frost, that let this ticking time bomb back onto the streets."

Frost opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish, though no words were spoken.

Frankie grabbed the mugshot. His eyes doubled in size when he, too, realized the grave error of their mistake. "That's him. The guy with the bad Popeye tattoo."

"The paperwork came from Central Station. I simply followed protocol." Frost explained, "We ran his fingerprints. The hits only came back for minor traffic citations."

"You only ran his prints against the statewide database. You should've waited for the results from IAFIS."

"That's enough, Agent Holiday." Jane said firmly. "It was a clerical error that saw the release of your guy. You standing there, yelling like a possessed Banshee in heat, won't help your cause. I don't think Frost is hiding Díaz up his ass, so I suggest you get off his. You hear me?"

"This isn't over."

"I don't think you get the point. Let me walk you out."

Jane didn't give Nina Holiday an option. She practically ushered Agent Holiday to the elevators.

"There's a storm brewing, Detective Rizzoli. You've been warned."

Jane made a face, "Thank you, Ms. Cleo. But the only thing that's brewing right now is my coffee."

"We'll meet again soon, Detective Rizzoli."

\- o -

The steel doors pulled back. The bright sunlight devoured the darkness hungrily.

"Took you long enough."

There, on a loading crane, was Julio Miguel Díaz. He had shaved off his beard, and dyed his hair a dark shade of sandy blonde.

"I like the new look you got going on."

Díaz pulled a few levers, and the loading crane lowered a large cargo box. It was marked with the word: fragile.

Finn nodded his head, and gave the go ahead.

Ronnie pried the box open with a crowbar. From within, he pulled out a carton of what appeared to be laundry detergent. He dipped his finger, and gave the detergent a taste.

"It's good."

The Giovannis were amateurs. They were idiots, plain and simple. Finn was the one that came up with the idea to use the Giovannis as a red herring. Finn called BPD with the tip off, in hopes of using the Giovannis' shipment as a decoy. While DCU, and BPD, concentrated on the Black Falcon Cruise Terminal in South Boston, nobody bothered to give their shipment a second glance.

Julio Miguel Díaz was their inside man. The original shipment was supposed to be for seven tons, not six. With Díaz's help, they were able to siphon one ton of top grade cocaine from the Columbians, for a discounted price. It was a win-win situation for them: they got the drugs, while the Giovannis got the blame. It could not have worked out more beautifully.

Tomlin handed Díaz a duffel bag.

Usually, this is the part in the movie where they double cross Díaz, and shoot him, execution style. That way, they'll keep both the drugs, and the money. But that was make-believe, and this was reality. And in reality, that wasn't how things worked. A man's creditability and reputation superseded him on the streets; it cannot be bought, it has to be earned. It was something his father taught him the hard way.

"It's all there: $300,000 in unmarked bills."

"Leave town, Díaz, and never come back." Finn said coolly, "If you ever show your face here again, it'll be mine to keep."

Ronnie elaborated, "What Finn means is he'll rip your face off."

Finn threw his hands up, "Thank you, Captain Obvious, for that clarification."

Díaz got the message, cloud and clear. "You got it."

The door closed with a gentle bang.

And that's when Tomlin let everything off his chest. "I don't like this, Finn. We're going behind Maura's back."

Finn said nothing.

"You and I both know how she feels about peddling narcotics. She's turned a blind eye to our other ventures, but this? It's the one thing she doesn't want us to touch."

"I do know how she feels about the subject, but we're not a charity house. Our guys have to eat. We need money, and lots of it, if we want to keep the turf we've fought so valiantly for. So unless you can print money from your twat, I suggest you keep your mouth shut."

"Tomlin's right, Finn." Ronnie said, "It's not a matter of if, but when, Maura finds out."

"I'll deal with her wrath, then."

Finn didn't like this anymore than they did. But he didn't have a choice. This wasn't about ethics or morality, this was about survival. And unless they had enough cash flow to not only build an army, but buy arms and defend their territories, they'll be sitting ducks. That cannot happen.

Everything they have today was paid for with his sweat and tears, and blood, and that included Maura. Finn wasn't about to let anything happen to Maura. Nor was he about to let anybody take her away from him, including that Detective.

\- o -

If there was one thing Jane could not stand, it was sitting on her ass and doing nothing. And that's exactly what the doctors wanted her to do when she was admitted. An X-Ray confirmed that she had hairline fractures to her ulna, but it wasn't enough to take her out of commission. And that's all she needed to hear. Jane ran for the hills the first chance she got. Jane loved her job too much. It was both her calling, and her passion. But if there's one thing she doesn't miss, it's her visits to Pike the Tyke. And that's exactly where she was headed.

Jane finally got a copy of Christopher Mullins' autopsy report. And much like Pike, the report was as confusing as it was pretentious. The damn thing read like a choose your own adventure novel; she didn't know what to make of the findings.

Jane knocked on Pike's door.

"Ah. Detective Rizzoli. It's nice to see that even Tartarus wasn't able to keep you from us."

Thomas Pike always has this constipated look permanently etched on his face. Not once, in all the years he's been here, has Jane ever seen him smile. But then again, it's hard to smile when you have no soul. But that wasn't what immediately caught Jane's attention. It was the fact that Pike the Tyke was packing.

"Why can't you just say Hell, Pike? Why must you always make yourself sound like a jackass?" Jane pointed at the boxes, "And what's with the packing? Did they finally air your episode of 'To Catch a Predator', with Chris Hansen?"

Pike's eyes darkened, "Are you here to mock me, Detective, is that it?!"

The sudden outburst came from nowhere. It's the first time Jane's ever seen Pike this enraged.

"Woah. Relax. I'm not here to mock you, Pike." Jane held up the autopsy report, "I'm here to ask you to clear up a few points, about Christopher Mullins' COD."

"Hmph. If you must."

"You list his official cause of death as Sudden Cardiac Death." Jane asked pointedly, "What the Hell does that mean?"

"It means his heart gave out."

"Okay. So Mullins died of natural causes?"

"Do not put words in my mouth, Detective. That's not what I said. I said he died of Sudden Cardiac Death, but nowhere in my report does it say from natural causes. I've officially labeled his death as homicide."

That's why Jane was confused. And that's exactly why Pike was incompetent.

"Pike, I'm not in the mood to dick around. So please, don't make me slap you silly with my one good arm. Throw me a freaking bone."

Pike wasn't in the mood, nor did he have the time, to go another round with Jane Rizzoli either.

"Senior Criminalist Chang found small traces of Benzodiazepine in Mullins' system. But after we broadened our spectrum, we also found higher than normal levels of Epinephrine, also commonly known as Adrenaline."

Jane furrowed her brows as she connected the dots. "Wait. Benzo is a muscle relaxant. But Epinephrine, it causes a spike in a person's heartrate, right?"

"You are correct, Detective. Epinephrine is usually injected in cases of cardiac arrest, or for severe cases of cardiopulmonary resuscitation."

"That's why Christopher Mullins' heart gave out. His killer injected him with two separate drugs, and each had an opposing effect on the other." Jane bit her thumb, and tapped her foot, "But why didn't the Epinephrine appear on the original tox screen?"

"Our body naturally produces Epinephrine. When we ran the initial tox screen, we were only looking for foreign drugs introduced into his system." Pike pulled out a snapshot, "You still remember the post-mortem wound I found?"

"Yeah. The gash where you found that bug, right? And you didn't know if it was a silk worm, or a caterpillar."

Pike bit his lips, and he held his tongue. "Anyways. The shallow wound on his neck was an elaborate attempt to mask a puncture mark. Mullins was injected intravenously, via the left common carotid artery."

There was no doubt about it. "The killer has medical training."

"It would appear so. Your killer is also extremely skilled. The victim died a painful death. His death was instantaneous, but the moments leading up to it would've been excruciating. The Epinephrine would've spiked his heartrate, but the Benzo would've locked his body in a state of acute lethargy. Christopher Mullins' condition would've resembled locked-in syndrome."

"He watched himself expire."

"Exactly." Pike sighed, and said, "I think I'm going to miss you the most, Detective Rizzoli. You've been a formidable opponent, given the fact that you're a Pleb, but formidable, nonetheless."

"I don't know what's gotten into you, Pike, but you're acting stranger than usual." Jane gave Pike a scrutinizing look, "Did you have a stroke? Too much Viagra, is that it?"

Pike picked up his box, and as he walked past Jane, he grabbed her ass. And he gave it a gentle squeeze. "I've always wanted to do that. Thank you, Detective Rizzoli."

Jane couldn't hide the fact that she was horribly surprised, and terribly repulsed.

Pike the Tyke touched her! On the ass!

"PIKE!"

\- o -

The weather was nice, and the sun was shining bright. Though the temperature was a bit on the chilly side, the scenery could not be more idyllic. The park was buzzing with life. And amongst the sea of people, he blended in nicely with the crowd.

He sat on a park bench, and he chowed down on a hot dog with a cup of hot coffee to wash it down, and he waited. It wasn't a long wait. He was enjoying the remainder of his coffee, when he spotted the signal. He reached into his wallet, and he pulled out a twenty dollar bill.

A kid on his bike said, "Top of the morning to you."

"And the rest of the day to you."

The kid handed him a tiny box.

He checked the contents within. He then handed him the twenty.

The kid smiled, and quickly rode off.

He chucked his unfinished coffee into a nearby bin. And he went back to work.

\- o -

Jane made her way back to the homicide unit. She threw down the autopsy report. The mere thought of Pike the Tyke gave her goosebumps.

"Hey."

"Where the Hell have you been?"

"I was out chasing a lead." Frankie's nose was slightly red. "It's freaking freezing outside."

"What about Korsak and Frost?"

"They're out, too." Frankie answered. "They didn't say where though."

It was lunchtime already, but Jane wasn't hungry; she lost her appetite. "I need coffee. You want anything?"

"I'll go with you."

"Fine. But you're paying."

Jane knew it was pointless to argue with Frankie. He cared for her, and she knew that, so there was no point scolding him for it.

"You know, Janie, Ma still doesn't know about the fire, or your arm yet." Frankie pressed for the ground floor. "She's going to notice the sling."

"I would rather tell her that I was pushed down a flight of stairs by a demonic Annabelle doll, than I tell her the truth." Jane pointed a dangerous finger at her brother, "I'm warning you, Francesco, not a single word."

Frankie gulped.

The café was swamped with customers for the lunch rush. Jane and Frankie kept their backs to the counter, and shimmied their way to the coffee station.

"Janie!"

Jane's shoulders shot up to her ears.

"Oh! What happened to your arm?!"

"I…uh…"

Frankie blurted, "She hurt herself, Ma."

"Yes. I did. Thank you, Frankie, for that brilliant insight." Jane stuttered, "I fell…in the tub…"

"…shaving!" Frankie shouted, "Went right down. Luckily, the shaver didn't nick anything."

Jane bit her lips, and she held her temper down.

"Why would you keep that from me?" Angela's eyes widened, "Are you going to lose your arm?! Oh my God, you're crippled, aren't you?!"

"I assure you, Mrs. Rizzoli, that Jane will receive the best care possible to ensure a speedy recovery, and the full retention and functionality of that limb."

The three Rizzolis turned their collective heads.

"Maura?"

Maura Isles was in a matching Vicuña wool blazer, with a knee high skirt. She was breathtakingly stunning.

Frankie gave Maura the up and down, "Hello, you."

Jane slapped her brother.

Angela asked, "And you are?"

Maura extended her hand, "I'm Maura Isles."

"Angela!" Stan shouted, "I don't pay you to fraternize. Now get your ass back to the panini press."

"Yes, Mr. Stanley." Angela said to Jane, "We're not done here, Missy."

The moment Angela was out of earshot, Jane punched her brother, only this time, she meant it. "Really, Frankie?! I said cover story, and the first thing that goes to your head is my vajayjay?!"

"I said you were shaving, I never said anything about your vajayjay."

"Frankie!" Jane snapped. "Sorry about that. What are you doing here, Maura?"

"I said I would visit you, Jane. So imagine my surprise when I found out you had been discharged against medical advice."

Frankie laughed, "Discharged? She practically climbed out the bathroom window, in nothing but her hospital gown. Not a pretty sight."

"Frankie, so help me God, if you don't stop talking, I will detach your balls with my bare hands, and I'll force feed it down your throat with a side of zucchini fritters."

Frankie smiled, "Hi, I'm Frankie."

"Maura Isles." Maura extended her hand, "We actually met before, but under extenuating circumstances."

"Go, Frankie." Jane pushed her brother towards the door, "I want those expunged records by this afternoon. Now, go."

Frankie waved, "Bye, Maura."

"Younger sibling, huh?" Jane got back to her coffee, "So what can I do for you, Maura?"

"Have you eaten yet? I want to take you out for lunch. You know, as a proper thank you."

"Thanks for the offer, but I'll have to pass. This is my lunch." Jane gestured at the large cup of black coffee, "It's delicious, and it's free trade. I think. Well, at this price point, it better be."

"You can't be serious, Jane. Excess caffeine has been shown to cause hypertension, dehydration, loss of bone density, stomach ulcers, and indigestion."

Maura grabbed Jane's neck, and she felt her lymph nodes. "You're nodes are slightly swollen. And you're awfully bloated today."

"Did you just call me fat?"

"It might be intermittent obstruction. When was your last bowel movement?"

Jane's face said it all, "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

"No. Sorry. I can't." Maura smiled, "But if you'll show me to my office, I can give you a full checkup later."

"Wait." Jane asked, "What are you talking about?"

"Didn't you hear? I'm Dr. Pike's successor."

"Pike's gone?!" That made sense, now that Jane thought about it. "You're Pike the Tyke's replacement?!"

"Yes. I am. I'm the new Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts."

"What?!"

\- o -

"We've got a problem."

"There's no problem. Not until you can show me some hard evidence."

"If I had any, I wouldn't be here talking to you, would I?"

"And until you can show me something more than a hunch, I'm not about to ruin a good cop's reputation."

"I traced Julio Miguel Díaz's paperwork, and it did indeed come from Central Station. And that's where the problem lays. We don't know how deep this goes."

"This goes nowhere, you hear me? This could very well be a clerical error."

"Whether you like it or not, there's a mole within BPD, and you'll have to deal with it sooner or later."

"I've heard enough for one day."

"There's a storm brewing, Lieutenant Cavanaugh. You've been warned."

"Goodbye, Agent Holiday."

\- o -

 **A/N: Take a penny, leave a penny.**


	6. Chapter 5: Mad, Madly, Maddening

**CH 5: Mad, Madly, Madness**

The room stilled. Only the distinguishable sound of a faint heartbeat could be heard. But that silence was short-lived.

The woman screamed in agony. She's been screaming for hours, maybe even days, but she couldn't tell; every second felt like a minute. The torment of both physical and mental anguish distorted her perception of time, and, perhaps, reality.

The man brought the razor blade down.

Yet another blood curdling scream escaped her lips.

Again and again, and again; there was no end in sight, as the sharp blade pierced the woman's delicate skin. The blade would always draw blood. But never, ever, did it pierce any major arteries or organs. He wasn't about to grant her the sweet release of death. This was about inflicting pain, and he was intent on doing just that.

When the man had finally ceased his torturous antics, he had exhausted three packs of disposables, for a total of eighteen razors, each worked into a dull nub.

Hundreds upon hundreds of swallow wounds kissed the woman's body. Not an inch of skin was spared. And no mercy was shown.

The woman drifted in and out of consciousness, and each time she came back, it was the same nightmare: the man with those cold brown eyes, and that demonic smile.

He could feel his pants tighten, as his erection hardened. The scenic masterpiece before him sent jolts upon jolts of shiver, and desire, up his spinal cord. He was ready to blow his load, but he denied himself that pleasure. It would be vulgar, to taint such a masterpiece with mortal coils of the flesh. No. That he will not do. So he sat there, and he watched her bleed, all the while nursing his throbbing hard-on.

"Please…"

And that's when he noticed the subtle change. There's this look that you get, when you're about to expire. It's difficult to explain. It's as if you can see the life force drain from their face, and dissipate into the surrounding air. The unmistakable look now graced her pale ominous face. It was time. She wouldn't last much longer, and that, he was certain of. He wasn't about to let her die, just like that. No. That honor belonged to him.

The man picked up his katana.

Even in the current state she was in, she refused to give in, or give up. He could hurt her, but he'll never break her. She fought tooth and nail, to the very end. "Why are you doing this to me?"

He rarely spoke, but didn't see the harm in doing so. "That's awfully cliché of you, but hey, if death row inmates get a last meal, it's only fitting that you get a last question, too."

In a strained yet dauntless voice, she repeated herself, "Why are you doing this to me?"

"I don't have a satisfactory explanation for you. I'm doing this because I want to. You won't get closure. What a waste of a perfectly good opportunity."

The man muffled her whimpers by stuffing her mouth.

The man raised the katana high above his head

The end was coming. She knew it.

The man swung the sword down with as much power and force as he could muster. The sound reverberated off the walls of the vacant house. The sound was a mixture of bones cracking, and Jell-O being slapped. It was unique, and every bit as sickly.

He picked up the object of his desire, and he inspected his handiwork. It was marvelous.

"Now where did I put that stupid box?"

\- o -

The medical facility at BPD was definitely impressive. It's been a while since Maura has set foot in an autopsy room, but then again, it was like riding a bike; it was second nature to her. It had taken her a day to get settled in, and acquaint herself with the job, her co-workers, fellow policemen, and more importantly, to Jane Rizzoli.

Fate is what happened to you. Destiny is what you choose to do, in spite of fate.

Maura has always been a woman of science. But she also believed in fate and destiny. She couldn't change the fact that she was Paddy Doyle's daughter. That to her, was fate. But she did choose to become a doctor. And that to her, was destiny. In a way, the choice to become a doctor was a conscious one. It's never easy to take a life, no matter how many times you do it, but Maura knew it had to be done. And whenever she doubted herself, or felt guilty, she would remind herself of the many more lives she could potentially save as Dr. Maura Isles. And that eased her guilty conscience.

But sadly, MEND was gone. It meant everything to her. For the past three years, Maura worked tirelessly for the organization, in the hopes of benefiting those less fortunate. It was never about the money. It was her way of giving back to the community. The untimely demise of MEND disheartened Maura tremendously, but in the darkness, there was a glimmer of hope. If it wasn't for that fire, Maura would've never gotten to know Jane, nor would she be able to land herself a better job, and an even greater calling. In hindsight, everything worked out for the best.

As the Chief Medical Examiner of Massachusetts, the capacity to help others was endless. And it didn't hurt to be on the other side of the law either. Maura wasn't worried about herself as much as she was worried about her clan, but more specifically, for Finn. Her brother was impulsive, reckless, and definitely ill-tempered. The last thing Maura wanted for her brother was life in prison. And for that, he'll need all the help he can get.

The job afforded her the opportunity to clean up their trail of destruction. And that's exactly where Maura found herself. There, on her examination table, laid two lifeless bodies. They were: Lou and Dario Giovanni.

Maura did not feel guilty about their deaths. They were monsters. They represented everything that was wrong with Southie. And because of their recklessness, and with the aid of Pablo, the fires they ordered had claimed eight innocent lives, and injured countless others, including Jane.

This all goes back to Jane Rizzoli. There was something about her that Maura couldn't quite pinpoint. It was a feeling; a sensation; an attraction. She was something entirely else. Maura has seen her fair share of people, both good and bad, but she's never met someone as loyal, fierce, yet dedicated, committed, and dare she say, principled, as Jane Rizzoli. The way Jane reacted in that fire was proof of character. Maura had no doubt in her mind, whatsoever, that even in the face of life and death, Jane will always put the safety and wellness of others first, before her very own.

"Dr. Isles."

"Dr. Isles?"

"Dr. Isles!"

"Huh?"

"We got a call about a transport?"

"Oh. Yes." Maura had completely blanked out. She grabbed the clipboard, and quickly scribbled her signature. "We have two, John Does. No next of kin. Unclaimed."

"That's everything I need."

The morgue attendant zipped up the individual body bags.

"Which hospital are they going to?"

"Uh." The attendant checked the paperwork, "Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital."

Maura nodded. And she watched as the two bodies left her autopsy room.

The Giovannis weren't known for their generosity nor forgiveness. They didn't do one good thing in living, but in death, they'll finally benefit others. On her second day as Chief Medical Examiner, Maura had forged medical papers, and had both their bodies donated as medical cadavers. It was two birds with one stone: it would benefit the teaching community, and it saved her the headache of dealing with their bodies. Body disposals were difficult. Look what happened with Christopher Mullins. That was a mistake Maura will not be making twice.

\- o -

The rooftop of BPD was usually locked, and can only be accessed through a secure stairwell, for precautionary reasons. So imagine Jane's surprise when she got a cryptic text message to meet up there. The number wasn't one she recognized, nor was it in her contacts. Jane would've brushed the request aside, but on second thought, decided to oblige. She wasn't in any immediate danger. And whoever wanted to meet with her wanted absolute discretion. The suspense alone was well worth the trek.

It was windy. And the air was unusually chilly.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Detective Rizzoli."

"Jesus!" Jane jumped, and made a grab for her gun, but halted when she recognized the mystery woman. "Agent Holiday! Don't do that! I was this close to shooting you in the uterus."

"No. You weren't. You're not as quick with your draw with your right hand, as you are with your left."

"Aw, man. Don't tell me you made me drag my ass up all those flights of stairs, just so you can critic me? I already have my mother for that."

Agent Holiday closed the gap, and she lowered her voice, "That's not why I invited you up here, Detective Rizzoli."

Jane dipped her head down, and she, too, whispered, "Is this the part where you tell me there's a storm brewing?"

"No." A third voice answered, "This is the part where I introduce myself."

Jane didn't recognize the voice, though she most certainly recognized the face. "What the fuck is IAD doing here?"

The man extended his hand, "Lieutenant Joseph Grant."

"Jane Rizzoli." Jane accepted the hand, "And I know who you are. You're Donnie Wahlberg's doppelgänger. Aren't you supposed to be touring with New Kids on the Block? You're not going to start singing 'Step-by-Step', are you?"

"You're funny, Detective Rizzoli. I like that."

"You know what isn't funny? Internal Affairs. What I want to know is what the Hell the two of you want with me?"

Joe Grant didn't see a reason to beat around the bush. "We suspect there's a mole within BPD. We don't know who, but we suspect the individual is taking bribes in exchange for favors."

Nina continued, "We've long had our suspicions, but Julio Miguel Díaz was the nail in the coffin. It confirmed our worst fears. The paperwork for his release came from Central Station, but there's no record of such a request being made."

Joe added, "We don't have much to go on at this point, which is why it pays to be resourceful. And that's where you come in, Detective Rizzoli."

"No. I won't do it." Jane said firmly. "You're asking me to be a rat."

"I'm asking you to be a cop."

"Why me? For all you know, I could be the mole."

Nina explained, "You were the only detective in Homicide that was excused from the Peruvian drug bust. This all started with that sting operation by DCU. Not only does our mole have firsthand knowledge of the raid, but they had to of been there, too, to correctly identify Julio Miguel Díaz as being amongst one of the arrestees."

"And Cavanaugh agreed to this?"

"No. He didn't. That's why I had to get Internal Affairs involved. If he didn't want to cooperate, and pursue the matter further, I'll have to do it behind his back then."

An incredulous scoff escaped as Jane ran a hand through her thick locks.

"Trust me, Detective Rizzoli, you want IAD involved. And you're going to want to help us. Because when push comes to shove, you want to be a 100% certain that whoever has your back, will have your back. You don't want that cloud of doubt looming over you, not when you're in a life and death situation."

Jane didn't know what to say.

"Sleep on it, Detective Rizzoli. And get back to us."

"We ask for your discretion with this sensitive issue." Joe Grant said sternly, "Not a word to your Lieutenant. Not even your own brother."

And with that, the burden on Jane's shoulders got even heavier. This is the first, and last time, she'll ever agree to meet on a rooftop, from a God damn unknown number.

"Fool me once, shame on you…"

\- o -

The car was parked on an adjacent street. Tomlin was in the driver's seat. It wasn't hard to find what he was looking for, when he knew exactly where to look. There were only two special needs elementary schools within the greater metro area.

The person of interest, that was also the recipient of his attention, was none other than Dante Giovanni.

Tomlin's been doing this for a long time. In fact, he doesn't remember a life outside the one he has now. To him, this wasn't a job, it was a lifestyle. Whether he liked it or not, this was his life now, and he couldn't change that fact. But that didn't make him a monster, nor was he heartless.

At first glance, Dante Giovanni was a normal child, but his behavior and his actions, they said otherwise. He was special. And Tomlin immediately recognized the signs. That's why he took a particular interest in the eight year old. The boy reminded him of his own brother. One in sixty-eight kids will be affected by autism, and Tomlin's baby brother was one of them.

Not a second has gone by where Tomlin rued his actions. None. Nor did he feel guilty for having a hand in the Giovannis' murder. If he had a chance to redo everything, he wouldn't change a single thing. But when it came to Dante, that's when Tomlin felt the slightest iota of guilt. The kid has had a hard life. And that life will only get harder as he gets older. And now, he was fatherless.

Dante Giovanni kept to himself on the playground. While the other kids played with their friends, Dante roamed around aimlessly. This went on for the better part of his recess, until he approached the fence. And that's when Dante looked up, and recognized a familiar face.

Tomlin didn't turn away; he caught the child's gaze.

Dante waved.

Tomlin hesitated. But then, he, too, waved back.

"Come on, Dante, let's go." A teacher came up, and ushered Dante back to the playground. "Recess is over."

Dante did as he was told. But not before he turned around for one last glance. The car was gone. And so was the man.

Tomlin's car sped off in the distance.

\- o -

The block was rundown. Majority of the houses were vacant, and a few were abandoned. No potential buyer would ever empty their life savings to invest in a property that was near a known crack den. And that's exactly what the last house on the left was.

The detached house was three storeys tall, with an unfinished basement. The place was always roaring with life, regardless if it was three in the afternoon, or three in the morning. People gathered here for different reasons, and they each had their own vices, be it alcohol, heroin, crack cocaine, or prescription drugs. Everybody that visited was welcomed, for this was a safe haven, free of any judgement.

This particular party of three was composed of two girls, and one guy. They came from all walks of life, and they each had their own personal demons to escape from. They did share one common goal though, and that was to escape reality. They stole, whored, tricked, and panhandled for money to support their filthy habit.

There were three of them, so it didn't take long for them to raise $200. For that amount, it got them a vial of top grade cocaine in its purest form. It made six neat lines.

They took turns, and they devoured the powdery goodness hungrily and with an impending sense of urgency. And they were off. The effect was almost instantaneous.

Thirty minutes had passed, and they were in orbit, and no longer rooted on this Earthly plane.

"You hear that?"

"I don't hear anything, Nick." The girl replied. "But I do feel light; like I'm weightless."

"Something's different. This feels different. I feel different."

"Woah. Your eyes, they're so sparkly." Nick screamed, "Jesse! Come here."

There was a loud bang, and the glass shattered.

Nick threw Jesse down by her hair, and he straddled her. "Don't move, Jesse, I'm going to try and remove them."

Jesse went into a fit of raging laughter.

"They're like diamonds! That's always worth a pretty penny, huh?"

Nick held Jesse's head down with both hands, and he pressed his thumbs into her eye sockets. The force exerted was enough to pop her eyeballs clean from their orbital sockets.

Through it all, Jesse didn't once yelp in pain. All she did was giggle and snort intermittently from delight.

"Look how big these are!" And with one violent yank, Nick detached the optic nerve from the brain. In the process, the ophthalmic artery was severed. "How many carats do you think they are?"

Jesse rolled around the dirty floor in bouts of uncontrollable laughter. She couldn't stop herself, but her body certainly did. Blood gushed freakishly from the exposed artery. She bled out from her cavernous sockets, and she died in a matter of minutes.

"Nori!" Nick screamed, "Nori! Come here! Look at these bad boys!"

But Nori wasn't there. She was outside. She laid on the sidewalk lifelessly; her cranium splintered wide open from the impact of the fall. Nori jumped from the third floor balcony; she thought she was a phoenix. The pavement disagreed. And the pavement prevailed.

\- o -

Jane had a lot on her mind, and she nearly ran into a head-on collision with Frankie as she exited.

"Woah! Janie! Watch where you're going. You don't want to lose your other arm." Frankie noticed the stairwell, "Did you just come from the rooftop?"

"Yes, Inspector Gadget, great detective work."

"What were you doing up there?"

"I needed some fresh air."

"On the rooftop?"

"The roof is where the air is the freshest. By the time it gets to the ground floor, it won't be fresh air anymore, it'll be stale air. The air up there is fresher than it is down here."

Frankie made the infamous Rizzoli face, and said, "Uh. I'm not sure that's how science works."

Jane smacked her brother, "Wise-ass."

They walked into BRIC, and immediately picked up where they left off.

Barry was on the phone, while Korsak was upfront.

"What's going on?"

"Barry's on the phone with Judge Donovan."

They had exhausted every avenue, and yet, they weren't any closer to narrowing down a suspect pool for the Christopher Mullins case. His expunged juvy record was their last Hail Mary.

It would take Barry another fifteen minutes to disconnect from the call, but his face just about said it all. "Bad news. Judge Donovan denied our warrant. The records have an active gag-order on them, and he didn't find any justifiable cause to lift the order."

"No justifiable cause? Are you shitting me?" Jane couldn't contain herself, "How about the fact that Mullins' dead? That wasn't justifiable enough?"

"No. It wasn't. Judge Donovan saw no correlation to indicate that his past juvy record would shed light on his death."

"Great. Just great."

Frankie added, "There's no guarantee those records would help, anyways. Mullins was fourteen when he was tried and convicted. He's, what, twenty-six now. That was twelve years ago. And like Korsak said, it couldn't have been anything serious. Mullins was only handed a hundred hours of community service."

"Frankie's right, Jane, we're going to have to go about this case from a different angle."

Jane bit her thumb, "We're missing something. It's right there. And I just can't see it."

"All the personnel at MEND have alibis, and not a single person there has a motive to see Mullins dead."

Frankie asked, "Maybe Maura can help?"

Jane shook her head, "She recused herself from the case. She knew the victim, and had a working relationship with him. She thought it would be in the best interest of the case if she remained impartial, to protect the integrity of the investigation, and maintain a firm chain of command."

Barry said, "Dr. Isles does have a point."

"We'll keep the case active, and we'll work it when we can, but unless new evidence surfaces, we'll have to put it on the back burner." Korsak raised the file, "So who wants it?"

"I'll take it." Jane volunteered, "I just need a bit more time to piece together the bigger picture."

"If you say so."

Jane asked, "Is there any word on CHB?"

"No. But my guy over at GCU says the Irish has a stronghold on Southie now. The Italians have vanished into thin air."

Jane didn't know whether she should jump for joy, now that the violent turf war was over; or dread the news, since they're now officially chasing a ghost. Paddy Doyle's daughter, CHB, was still an unknown variable to them.

A knock sounded, "Excuse me, Detective Rizzoli?"

Jane and Frankie turned at the sound of their name.

"Jane."

Frankie mumbled something underneath his breath.

It was Cole Rowland; the desk sergeant of BPD.

"Hey, Rowland. What brings you up to Homicide?"

Rowland handed Jane a parcel, "This came for you. It's marked as urgent."

Jane gave the parcel a once over. "Did they leave a name?"

"Nope. It came via USPS standard courier." Rowland noticed Jane's concerned expression, "Don't worry, Jane, the package passed inspection. There's nothing metallic inside."

"Thanks, Cole."

Frankie asked, "What is it, Janie?"

The parcel didn't have a return address. It was only marked with a mailing address, with the attention forwarded to her. "I don't know. There's no name, either."

This got Frost and Korsak's interested, too.

"Is it registered?"

"No." Jane knew what Frost was getting at. If the parcel was registered, it would have a tracking number, and they would be able to trace the origin, as well as the sender. "It was sent via regular mail. I mean, look at the postage. It looks like someone licked a pack of stamps, and prayed that it would be enough postage, then sent it."

"Yeah. The stamps uncut, too."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Maybe it's nothing." Frankie snapped his fingers, "I know! Maybe Ma got you something from Amazon. She signed up recently, and she hasn't stopped talking about it since. She's been buying a bunch of crap left and right."

"Maybe." Jane shook the box. "It's heavy, too."

"What's with all the guessing game? Just open it."

Jane grabbed a letter opener, and she gently flayed the taping off. She pulled the flaps back.

"Is that…"

"…a head?!"

Frankie couldn't help himself, "I don't think that's from Amazon."

\- o -

 **A/N: Eat, Pray, Love...me?**


	7. Chapter 6: New Players in Town

**CH 6: New Players in Town – Welcome to Boston**

The man swept the house from top to bottom, and he made damn sure everything was immaculate. There was no room for error. But on the up side, he was in a fabulous mood. He whistled a joyful tune, as he combed every last room. When he was finally satisfied, he returned to the living room, and set the final piece of the puzzle in motion. He turned off the ceiling fan, and gave it a gentle yank. And that was it.

On his way out, he peeled off a sticker by the window, and he closed the door.

And now, it was on to act two.

\- o -

"You! Go grab Dr. Isles, now!"

The uniform rookie didn't dare question Jane; he did as he was told, and ran for dear life.

Frankie made an attempt to grab the head, only to have his hands swatted away.

"Don't even think about it! Not until Maura gets here."

"But —"

"No. Jane's right. It's crucial we preserve whatever evidence is available by limiting our contact."

"Why's she in pigtails?"

Barry had his eyes adverted the entire time. But when his curiosity got the best of him, all it took was one look, and he gagged.

"Not here, Frost!"

Barry distanced himself from the gore. "I'll pull up the lobby footage. Maybe our cameras caught a glimpse of the courier."

It wasn't long till Maura came rushing in. "I got your message, Jane, what's the…is that a human head?"

"Someone sent this to BPD, and forwarded it to me. We did our best to prevent any further contamination, if any."

"What do we know about the victim?"

"Not much at this point. Only that she's female. And that the package is definitely not from Amazon."

Maura, with a pair of blue latex gloves, carefully extracted the head from the tight confines of the cardboard box. She gently traced the outer edges of the wound.

Everybody, except Frost, watched on intently.

"Rigor mortis hasn't set in yet. She couldn't have been dead for more than four hours."

Maura continued the inspection, and moved on to the orifices.

"I've got the footage."

"Pull it up."

The monitor showed a man, in a water blue USPS uniform, enter the lobby. The courier took his time, and was smiling and chatty throughout the entire interaction. He even waved when he left.

Korsak noted, "Unless the man is the world's dumbest killer…"

"…or he isn't our guy."

"Oh, my. You might want to see this."

"What is it?"

The parched lips squelched as it was parted. They watched as Maura used a pair of forceps, and she extracted something from the victim's mouth.

"There appears to be a note, of sorts, inserted in the victim's airway. It was lodged in her pharlynx, but just before her larynx." Maura inspected the note closely, "It appears to be done post-mortem."

Frankie asked, "You can tell all that from a piece of crumpled up paper?"

"If this had been inserted while the victim was alive and conscious, her pharyngeal reflex would've caused her airway to spasm and clamp shut. This was wedged much too deep to be done ante-mortem." Maura brought the note to her nose, and she sniffed it. "There doesn't appear to be any signs of gastric acid. So that strengths my origin resolute."

"Woah." Jane made a face, "You did not just smell that."

"How else was I supposed to determine the presence of gastric acid?"

Korsak carefully inspected the tiny note, "The killer wants to send us a message."

"No." Jane corrected, "The killer wants to send me a message."

"Read what it says."

"I travel the world, but always stay in a corner. What am I?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Someone's obsessed with the new season of Gotham."

Maura repeated the riddle beneath her breath, as her mind processed the possibilities.

"We don't have time for riddles. We'll run the victim through facial recognition —"

"I know!" Maura jumped, "A stamp! I'm a stamp!"

Those words struck Jane harder than a bullet ever could. The uncut sheet of stamps! Jane grabbed the box, and she gently flayed the postage from the surface. And there, written on the underside, was an address.

"666 Emerald City Avenue."

Frost said, "I'll call for back up."

"Let's move!"

They rolled out of BRIC at lightning speed, but it didn't slip Jane's mind. "Maura, you'll ride with me. This is your first case as Chief M.E, and I want you close by."

Maura appreciated Jane's thoughtfulness. But she knew that wasn't the whole story. Much like Jane, she, too, had a bad feeling about this.

\- o -

The room was void. The sound of hoarse grunts filled the depths of the tiny room, and the reverberation was felt by the two parties. The air was musky. The scent of human ripeness overpowered the underlying musk. And it was disgusting.

Finn threw his hips back, and he pounded his manhood mindlessly against immobile hips. She might as well be unconscious, or dead, for the sex was one-sided. She barely moved, or participated. She was intent on saying as is: bent over a shabby desk.

Every once in a while, when Finn was a bit too rough, tiny blobs of blood clots would discharge from the girl, and ricochet onto his jeans. But that did little to deter his tenacity. It would take him another fifteen minutes to get off. It wasn't easy either. He had to take his mind elsewhere.

Finn shoved the girl's face flat against the surface, and he came in her. He didn't even bother to pull out. Finn threw his hips up, and he contacted his abs. Each droplet that parted brought a tiny wave of shivers. He didn't stop till every last drop was dispensed.

Finn pulled his pants up, and he lit up. He paid the girl no mind. She remained bent over, and lifeless, as she had been for the past half hour. He pulled the door back, and rejoined the group.

They were joined by a special guest today. An Armenian fellow by the name of, Ashen Bogdani. News of the Doyle clan gaining a strong foothold on Southie has spread like wildfire. And those that seek an alliance, and protection, knew they had to put on their best dog and pony show to impress the clan.

"Well?"

"She's tight. But inexperienced." Finn added, "And a virgin, too."

"What can I say? I only offer the highest quality of girls money can buy. That one was free. But no more freebies. If you want seconds, you'll have to pay."

"What's your asking?"

"Twelve girls. $50,000, each."

It was a no-brainer. Finn didn't even have to contemplate the offer. "No."

"What are you offering?"

"$30,000."

Ashen Bogdani was insulted, and it showed. "The only reason I tolerate you is because of your reputation as a businessman. But do not, for a second, take my kindness for weakness."

Finn took a particularly long drag. And with a deep sigh, he exhaled. "I'll go as high as $40,000. And I'll give you a 10% referral fee, for every John you throw our way. One year exclusivity. The more we make, the thicker your wallet gets. Take it, or leave it."

This was interesting. And it definitely piqued his interest. Ashen Bogdani knew a good deal when he heard one. "Deal."

Finn shook the man's hand, and sealed the deal.

When the tension had eased, and the parties settled, Ronnie couldn't hold his tongue anymore. "Hey, Finn. You mind if I take one for myself?"

Finn eyed Ashen Bogdani.

"Be my guest. They're your girls now."

Finn nodded.

Ronnie squealed harder than a child on Christmas morning.

"You want one, too, Tomlin?"

Tomlin declined, "No."

"Now that we have a deal, tell me the truth." Finn leaned forward, and snubbed his cigarette. "Just how old are these girls?"

"Have a sudden change of heart, and want to help these poor lost souls, Richard Gere? This isn't 'Pretty Woman'. There won't be a happy ending."

"I couldn't care less." Finn said truthfully. "I want to know what the turnover rate will be. Girls like these, they burn out fast. I want to know I'm getting the most bang for my buck."

"Fair enough. They're mostly fourteen. One or two, maybe, sixteen. Who knows? I certainly don't."

Ronnie returned moments later with a treasured prize of his own. The girl was tall, and frail. She didn't have an extra pound of meat on her bones. She was stained with tears, and fear and despair.

"Please! I have family here. They'll pay you!"

Ronnie heard not a single thing. He made a beeline for the tacky room, and he shoved her in. The door slammed shut. The girl's screams were muffled, but they weren't extinguished.

They overheard everything. And they didn't do a damn thing about it.

\- o -

Ding dong.

The doorbell rang.

It didn't take long for the homeowner to come to the door.

"Hello, Ma'am." The man held up his ID card, "I'm with Rapid Security Systems. I'm here to conduct a monthly timer test."

"Oh. But I didn't schedule any appointments today."

"This isn't a scheduled visit. Your alarm panel is sending the station undefined signals, and it's affecting your alarm. I assure you, Ma'am, that this is fairly standard. It's to ensure the alarm signals from your residence reaches our monitoring station, in cases of genuine burglaries and emergencies. It'll only take a few minutes for complete peace of mind. And it's free of charge for our monthly subscribers."

The woman hesitated. She then gave the ID a good hard look. "Theodore Bundy."

"Yes, Ma'am." The man pointed at his van, with the company logo etched on the side, in bold black letters. "We're your service company. I'll be in and out, real quick."

It was broad daylight, and in the middle of the afternoon. With a shrug, the woman said, "Sure."

The technician closed the door behind him. He then peeled off a sticker on the side window, and he carefully pocketed it.

This was way too easy.

\- o -

The TSA agent motioned for the next in line.

The man slowly approached window #7.

"Passport. And declaration."

The man handed both items over.

The TSA agent did a quick visual confirmation that the gentleman was indeed one in the same person as the passport photo. He then scanned the barcode. "What is the nature of your visit?"

"I'm here to visit family."

"Do you have items, or merchandises, that exceed the personal exemption of $800 USD?"

"Nope. I traveled light."

The TSA agent gave the man one last fleeting glance. He stamped his passport, and handed it back.

"Welcome to Boston, Mr. Giovanni. Enjoy your stay."

"Thank you. I most certainly will."

\- o -

They had their weapons drawn.

"Ready when you are, Frost."

"Really put your shoulder into it."

"If I go on workers' comp, it'll be all your asses' fault."

"Excuse me." Maura interrupted, "If I may: the 'For Sale' sign up front is a dead giveaway. Might I suggest you try the doorknob, firstly?"

Neither Korsak, Frankie, nor Frost seemed particularly convinced, but there was no harm in trying. And to their surprise, the front door was unlocked. But that did nothing to quell their anxiety. In fact, if anything, this had them on edge, even more so.

Korsak had his hand on the knob, "One, two, three!"

They charged in single formation

"Boston police!"

Frost yelled, "I'll take upstairs!"

Korsak followed, "Basement!"

Frankie said, "Main floor!"

Jane fell back, and was the last to enter. "Stay close, Maura."

Maura nodded, and did as she was told.

Jane didn't lower her Glock, not until she heard Frankie yell, "Clear!"

They found the victim in the living room, hanging from the ceiling.

Jane has seen her fair share of bodies; this definitely made it into her top ten. The victim was decapitated. She hung from her torso. But that wasn't the worst of it. It was what she was wearing. The victim was in a white undershirt, and had a blue checkered dress on. And the shoes: they were red and sparkly. Anybody that's ever read 'The Wizard of Oz' will automatically recognize the outfit.

"Woah." Frankie stumbled in. "Is that supposed to be Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz?"

"It would appear so. And hence, the need for pigtails."

"It's a little early for Halloween, isn't it?"

Maura stepped closer to the body. "The noose appears to be connected to the ceiling fan."

"Frankie, run and grab us a technician. We'll need a hand with the body."

"You got it."

Jane watched with interest as Maura circled the body multiple times. All that was visible of the doctor was her nose; her head tilted upwards. "Are we inspecting the house for signs of mold, Dr. Isles?"

"Mold?" Maura was at a loss. "If it's mold you're concerned about, Jane, then don't be. Indoor air quality is often associated with other allergens, more so than common variants of mold. There are only a handful of molds that contain toxic compounds known as mycotoxins, but exposure to hazardous levels of mycotoxin via inhalation is not possible."

Jane's face said it all, "No more Google talk. Talk to me about the victim. Why were you looking up like that?"

"Right. Well, it's the noose I find interesting. The knot that's used, it's highly uncommon. It's known as a 'bottle sling' knot. Its main function is to grip an object by its neck, and lift it upon its axis. It's quite ingenious. Your killer is experienced, on many levels, particularly in the art of knots."

"Let's try not to get too excited, alright? We can get a new hashtag, #knotappreciation, trending later. Let's just wait to get the vic down first."

"Give me a hand, Jane."

"I only have the one."

Maura grabbed the victim's legs.

"Oh. We're doing this. Okay." Jane followed suit, but did so single handedly. "What, exactly, are we doing?"

"The great thing about the sling knot is that it's sturdy, but equally easy to unknot, if you know how."

"Oh, dear, Baby Jesus. Don't screw with me, woman. Please, tell me you know how. This is way too heavy for trial and error."

"Of course I do." Maura took offense, "I'm certified with the American Sailing Association for Keelboat Sailing. All we need to do is lift the body, and unhook the overhand knot from the center one, and the weave should come undone."

They lifted the victim's legs, and relived the tension from the torso.

It made a tiny click.

Jane stopped dead in her tracks. "Stop! Now!"

"What —"

"Don't move!"

Maura did as she was told. The fear and trepidation etched on Jane's face was clear as day.

"That click I just heard, I've heard it before. I'm almost certain it's from a pressurized detonator; most commonly used in VBIED."

Maura was familiar with the term, "Vehicle-borne improvised explosive device."

"Exactly. I knew what I heard. And it fits the profile, of why the lynch runs into the ceiling fan. Whatever you do, don't shift the weight, and keep the body as steady as possible."

Maura couldn't believe what she was hearing, but she trusted Jane's experience, and better judgement.

It wasn't long before Korsak and Frost joined them in the living room.

"Basement's clear."

"So is the second floor."

"I don't have time to explain. Korsak, I need you to dispatch the bomb squad. I think we just triggered an IED when we moved the body. Frost, I need you to evacuate the surrounding houses. I don't know how strong the explosive force is, but we have to assume the worst. Set the barricade at a hundred meters back."

"But, Jane, you can't —"

"Just go! Korsak, get Frost out of here. And keep Frankie the Hell away from here. You hear me?! Go!"

Neither Korsak nor Frost wanted to leave Jane's side, not like this, but she was right, there was nothing they could do for her. They had no choice. With reluctance, and a heavy conscience, they cleared the scene.

"I don't know about you, Jane, but I really don't feel like being blown up by the rapid increase in volume and release of extreme force in a direction perpendicular to the surface of the explosive, or what is colloquially known as, an explosion."

"Thanks for the distraction, Maura, but I don't think it's working."

Jane took several deep breaths to steady her right hand. But it was far too weak. The shoulder sling was tight, and rigid, but she had no other choice. She brought her left hand up, and she secured the legs with her hands clasped tight, to form a bear hug. She ignored the sharp pain in her forearm. She could survive a broken arm. She couldn't survive being blown to kingdom come.

Maura noticed this, too. "Are you getting tired?"

"Yes. I am. And so are you. You're shaking, Maura."

Maura couldn't help herself. The weight of the body, combined with the fact that she was nerve wrecked, she couldn't help but tremble. But she did everything she could to stay as still as possible.

"I've really got to stop getting myself in these situations with you, Detective Rizzoli. You're, literally, going to be the death of me."

"Well, I'm going to put this out into the universe: if we, ever, find ourselves in a life and death situation again, I'm hoping for a Sharknado." Jane then did her best valley girl accent, "Cause, you know, fire and bombs are so, like, 2005."

The distraction helped. This went on for several more minutes, but to them, it felt like hours on end.

They weren't going to make it.

Jane's left arm was going to give out at any moment. And Maura, she was starting to shake, visibly so. Any sudden movement and the detonation will trigger, without a doubt. Jane had to make a decision. She had an idea. It wasn't a good one, by any means, but it was all she got. It was either act now, or leave it up to chance. And unfortunately for her, she was never much of a gambler.

"Maura, I need you to listen to me. You're going to slowly ease your hands away from the body, and I will assume your side of the weight."

"What?! No. Not going to happen."

"I've never failed you before. I'm not going to start now. Trust me. I have a plan."

"Your plan involves you risking your ass for the two of us. I'm the one that suggested we move the body. This is my fault, Jane. If anyone should leave, it should be you."

Jane closed her eyes, and bit her lips. "I have a plan. It'll work. But I need you to do exactly as I say. Do you trust me?"

"That has nothing —"

"Do you trust me?!"

Maura exhaled, "I do."

"Good. Now slowly ease your left hand off. Go on. I got you."

Maura's movements were deliberate. And painfully slow.

"And now ease your right arm off the inner thigh."

Maura retracted her limb, like Jane asked.

Jane used her body as a sturdy support, while her right arm held much of the body weight. "Grab the radio from my belt."

Maura unclipped the radio, and pressed the PTT button.

"Korsak?"

"Go for Korsak."

"Listen. When you were in the basement, was it unfinished?"

"Yes. It's unfinished."

"Are the main floors reinforced? Could you tell?"

"No. I don't think they're reinforced, but I didn't exactly have time to inspect the structural integrity of the place. What the Hell are you planning to do, Jane? You —"

There was complete radio silence. But then, "Janie!"

It was Frankie.

"Whatever the Hell it is you're thinking, don't do it! The bomb squad's ETA is fifteen minutes! They're coming! So hold on!"

"Turn it off."

Maura did.

"Frankie's right. The bomb squad's almost here. We just have to hold out a bit longer."

"We don't have fifteen minutes." Jane explained, "The pressure sensor is too complex. There's no guarantee they'll be able to unhinge the trigger, and dispose of the fuse. And even if they could, it'll take too long. Our bodies would've given out by then."

"Jane —"

"I'm going to ease my left hand off the body. I want you to grab my Glock, and place it firmly in my palm."

Maura didn't want to. But Jane was headstrong. There was no stopping her. She grabbed the Glock from her holster, and she placed the gun firmly in Jane's left hand.

"I'm going to give you ten seconds. When I begin the countdown, I want you to run as fast, and as far, as you can from here. Do you understand?"

"No! Not until you tell me whatever the Hell it is you're thinking!"

Jane didn't have a second to spare, so she relented. "The hub around the ceiling fan. It's small. You can only pack so much explosive into such a confined space. And remember, the house is vacant. That works to our advantage."

Maura had no idea what vacancy has anything to do with their situation.

"The explosion will be strong, but not deadly."

"You think so?"

"I know so." Jane's right arm slipped, but she caught herself in time, and she retightened her grip. "Get ready to run, Maura."

"What —"

"Go!" Jane screamed. "Ten...nine..."

Maura locked eyes with Jane, and they conveyed raw emotions. This will be her second time abandoning Jane for her own safety, and selfishness. But Maura was done running. She swore to all that is Holy, there will not be a third time. If need be, she was willing to give up her own life, to keep that sacred vow.

Maura turned on her heels, and she bolted for the door.

"...Four…Three…Two…One!"

Jane pointed her Glock, and she aimed the barrel directly at the floor below. She pulled the trigger. She rapid fired her gun into the laminated floor beneath her. She only had seventeen rounds, so she had to be smart with her bullets. The diameter of the circle was small; only enough to encircle her being. By the time her clip was empty, the floorboard was shot to Hell, but it still held.

There was no turning back.

Jane stomped on the floor, repeatedly. The laminated floorboard finally gave way. And gravity did the rest.

The large range of motions triggered the detonator. It clicked for a second time. The fuse ignited, and an untamed fireball sent a blast wave rippling in every direction. It destroyed everything in its merciless path.

\- o -

Maura ran from the house as fast as she could.

But she didn't get far enough. She wasn't even off the lawn, when the explosive force of the bomb blew out the windows, and sent her flying several meters back.

Maura landed violently, with unconstrained force. She ricocheted off the ground with the elasticity of a bouncy ball, before her limp body stilled. It was lights out.

\- o -

 **A/N: Trick or treat. Give me something good to eat. Not too big. Not too small. Just the size of Montreal.**


	8. Chapter 7: In the Line of Duty

**CH 7: In the Line of Duty**

The bowl was still warm when he polished it clean. He got up, and helped himself to a second serving of their signature Giovanni Italian beef stew. The secret was the dried majoram; that or the six hours it spent on the stovetop, simmering on a low heat.

Gilberti hasn't had a home cooked meal in ages. All his meals came from a container. It tasted great. And it was hassle free. What more can a man ask for from his food? But this, this was heaven on Earth, and he fully indulged himself.

"I don't see how you stuffing your face is going to help."

Gilberti took another spoonful of the rich stew, as he tuned out the woman's shrill voice.

"When I asked for your help, Gil, you gave me your word that you'll find the person responsible for taking my boys; your nephews."

Gilberti practically licked the bowl clean. He was stuffed, and thoroughly satisfied. He even let out a tiny burp. But his sister was right, in her own way. He couldn't exactly hit the streets, and interview people. His resources were limited.

"Is Dante home yet?"

"He's in his room. But what's the point, Gil, you know he —"

"Has autism. Yes. I'm aware. But the boy's not stupid. You underestimate him." Gilberti swung open the refrigerator door, and grabbed a juice box.

Dante Giovanni was eight, and had non-verbal autism; that was all he knew about his grandnephew. In all honesty, Gilberti never cared much for family. But some things in life were irreplaceable, and that included family.

Gilberti knocked, "Hello, Dante."

Dante was at his tiny work desk, hunched over his sketch pad. He looked up to acknowledge Gilberti's presence, and then went back to his drawing.

Dante wasn't just talented for an eight year old, he was downright gifted. Once in a red moon, Dante will speak a broken sentence or two, but his main form of communication was his drawings; it was the window to his introverted world.

"Dante. Can we talk about your daddy?"

Danny shook his head.

"Okay. Fair enough. Are you thirsty? How about I trade you this apple juice for your sketch pad?"

Dante didn't respond at first.

"I promise I'll be quick. Can I?"

Dante nodded, and grabbed the juice box.

The sketch pad was chalked full of drawings. Gilberti carefully thumbed through the pages. He didn't exactly know what he was looking for, but a clue would be nice. Dante was there that day, when Dario was taken. Gilberti was hoping to find a composite; something, anything, at this point.

Nothing caught his eye. Not until he got to the last few pages. These were Dante's most recent entries since the abductions. Gilberti recognized the drawing of his school, but the recent ones differed from the old. The new ones always had a red car in the background. The same car appeared several more times thereafter.

Gilberti pointed at the building, "Is this your school?"

Dante nodded.

"Do you know the man inside the red car?"

Dante shook his head.

"Is he your friend?"

In a heartbeat, Dante nodded.

Dante handed back the empty juice box, and grabbed his sketch pad. He, literally, went back to the drawing board.

It wasn't much. But it was a start.

"Well?"

"Well nothing."

"That's all you have to say?"

"No. There is one more thing: I'm taking Dante to school tomorrow."

\- o -

Maura was certain she was lying still, and yet, it felt like the room around her was spinning on a carousel. And then there was her head; it was throbbing with a rampant pulse. The pulse had the tenacity of a marching band, and it was only halftime; there was more to come.

Slowly, but surely, Maura was lulled from her uneventful rest.

The heartrate monitor was a dead giveaway. And then there were the countless IV lines running through her arm. Maura was certain she was in a hospital. Either that, or this was the start of a low budget slasher flick.

"You're awake."

And there, by her bedside, was Finn.

The bed squeaked as the mechanics came to life.

Finn propped Maura up on several more pillows.

"Let me guess? I'm in the hospital."

"I honestly don't get you. You're the smartest person I know. You have an MD in medical pathology, and a Ph.D in Immunology, and yet you're stupid enough to get yourself in these situations. I am tired of getting these phone calls that scare me half to death, Maura."

"Before you continue scolding me, may I first get a glass of water?"

"You may."

Maura's lips were parched, and her mouth arid; her tongue tasted bitter. A glass of lukewarm water was most welcomed.

"You look like you haven't slept for days, Finn." Maura softened her tone, "And for that, I'm sorry."

"You're not wrong, you know. I've been here for as long as you have."

Maura choked on her water, "Come again?"

"You've slept for two days straight."

"What?!"

"You sustained minor head trauma. And you were severely sleep deprived, and fatigued. I had the doctor give you a sedative to sleep it off." Finn was unapologetic, "I did what I thought was best for you."

"So you drugged me?!" Maura was furious, "You had no right!"

"I want you to stay for one more night."

"No! I am a doctor. And I will seek medical attention, if and when, I deem it necessary."

"I really don't think that's a good idea."

"Why are you so Hell bent on keeping me here, Finn?" Maura removed the IV needles, and disposed of them appropriately, in the biohazard disposal bin. "I'm of no help to anyone here. I need to get back to work. They need me at BPD."

"You've really changed." Finn spoke candidly, "If you honestly think that this job at BPD will grant you the solace you so desire, from all the lives you've taken and all the blood you've spilled, then you're sadly mistaken, Maura. You will never truly be one of them."

Maura's eyes darkened, "Do not question me, or my loyalty, Finn. You are in no position to do so."

"Then don't give me a reason to. You've been so busy playing make-believe cops and robbers, you have no idea what's going on anymore. Do you even care?"

"Of course I care." Maura snapped. "You're my brother. And as long as you are alive and breathing, I will always care."

Finn's expression softened.

"Look, I really don't want to go another round with you. Not here. Not now."

"You're not going anywhere. It's the middle of the night. I'll bring you a change of clothes for tomorrow. It doesn't start till eleven. I'll be by to pick you up at nine."

"What's at eleven? What are you talking about?"

The glee Finn had was hidden beneath a somber veneer. "Your friend; that detective; her funeral procession is tomorrow. I'll take you, so you can say your goodbyes."

"Wait! What?! Jane's dead?!"

\- o -

"Nicholas Jacob Rendle. Twenty-six years old. No known address. One pending manslaughter charge; and one culpable homicide. I'm no psychic, but this doesn't look good for you."

"You can't do this! I requested a lawyer! You can't speak to me until they get here! I know my rights!"

"The only right you have is your hand, you full grown ass-hat."

"Can…can you even call me names like that?"

"Did I just call you an ass-hat?"

"Yeah. You totally did."

"Well, then, I guess I can." Agent Holiday handed him a notepad and a pen. "Give me the name of your dealer, and the names of every broker you know, and I just might let you use the bathroom."

"But —"

A knock interrupted them. It was Susie Chang. "Agent Holiday. Do you have a minute?"

"Stay put."

The door closed behind Nina. "What is it?"

"I have the results from the Rendle case." Susie handed Nina the file, "It appears the cocaine was diluted with a hallucinogen called Pregabalin."

"That's unusual. Dealers usually cut their cocaine with cheap addictives to lower their cost, and boost their profits. This, Pregabalin, it sounds costly."

"It is. Known side effects include synesthesia, the ability to see colors; and auditory hallucination. I'm actually amazed Mr. Rendle is still alive. Given the potency of the dosage, he should've OD-ed."

"The guy's a lifelong druggie. His tolerance is through the roof. He can snort a line of tide detergent, and the bugger will still be kicking." Nina asked, "Will the presence of Pregabalin help me narrow down my pool of suspects?"

"Unfortunately, no. The drug is quite common. But I can tell you whoever diluted this particular batch isn't just some lowlife on Yahoo Answers. Whoever did this has advance knowledge of chemical element bond, and solvent dilution. My best guess is they're marketing the cocaine as a high-end, tailored drug."

"Great. Just great. I have my very own Walter White."

"But I do have one piece of good news."

"Hit me."

"Because of the recent influx of Class A narcotics, DCU started a database of chemical profiles of all their seizures. The sample Mr. Rendle provided came back with a match."

"To what?"

"The cocaine is structurally identical to the recently seized shipment by DCU."

"The Peruvian bust?"

"Exactly. It's common to see batches be similar if they're from the same producer. But even with the same exact recipe, no two batches are ever identical. The chances of that are astronomical."

Nina Holiday understood the implications perfectly. And it turned her world upside down. "Thank you, Criminalist Chang."

"You're welcome, Agent Holiday." Susie continued, "I heard about Detective Rizzoli. If you don't mind me asking: why aren't you at her procession?"

"We weren't close."

And Nina left it at that.

\- o -

The first recess bell rang, and a wave of students rushed out those doors with the ferocity of a broken dam. They overflowed the yard. They were wild and rampant, still high from their sugary breakfast cereal.

Tomlin sat in his car, and just relaxed as he took in the surrounding sound. This place has fast become his sanctuary. His life was by no means mundane, but it was definitely maddening. The kids and their vibrant energy and liveliness, it washed away the trepidation and anxiety associated with his lifestyle.

Tomlin knew he'll never have kids. And if he ever did, it won't be by accident, that's for sure. But he didn't want kids, either. He couldn't bring himself to consciously father a child, only to have the child carry the burden of having someone like him as their father. He couldn't do it. And he won't.

"Excuse me?"

Tom was startled by the presence of another voice. A man materialized at his window, from seemingly out of nowhere.

"Sorry about the scare." The man pointed, "You're actually in my parking spot."

"What spot? We're in the middle of a school zone."

When Tomlin looked up again, all he saw was the butt of a shot gun. And it was lights out.

Gilberti Giovanni smashed his face in a few more times, just for good measure. He then shoved the limp body over, and got in the driver's seat.

Gilberti revved the engine, and shot off in a red Camaro.

\- o -

No less than fifty police motorcades escorted the hearse to Memorial Gardens Cemetery. The streets were lined with civilians every few blocks down, out to pay their final respect to an officer fallen in the line of duty.

When the hearse finally arrived, and the attendees settled, the procession began. A Catholic priest, Father Francis, led the service. Words were said; a biblical verse was recited; Frankie, Korsak, Barry, and Lt. Cavanaugh gave their eulogies; and a Hymn was sung. From start to finish, the entire procession took no more than fifty minutes. Jane Rizzoli was a dedicated detective, a strong female role model, and a loyal friend, and fifty minutes was all they had to show for it. It did not seem fair. And it wasn't.

Maura didn't cry. She couldn't bring herself to shed a single tear. She was currently in stage one of the Kübler-Ross Model: denial. The true gravity of the situation hasn't hit her, yet. But when it does, Maura knew she was going to be heartbroken. But until then, her heart simply ached, horribly and terribly so.

Maura approached the family, and she hugged Frankie. "My condolences, Frankie."

"Thank you."

Maura didn't know what to say, "I…I…"

"I never thought I would lose her so soon."

Frankie muffled a sob as his face contorted painfully. When he couldn't fight it anymore, he broke down, and he cried.

Korsak grabbed Frankie, and he held him as he sobbed turbulently. Jane and Frankie quarreled like any good siblings would, but beneath the playful banter, they loved each other, dearly and deeply.

Maura has never been good with her emotions. And in such a time of grief, she was rendered inarticulate. She simply said, "I'm sorry for your loss, Angela."

Angela's eyes were visibly red and swollen, but she appeared calm; serene, almost. It was unsettling, and contrary to everything she should be feeling with the loss of her firstborn daughter.

"If there's anything I can do, Angela, just say so."

"Find him."

"Beg pardon?"

Angela said through gritted teeth, "I want you to find the monster that did this. I want to look him in the eyes, and ask him why."

Maura didn't want to make promises she couldn't keep, nor did she want to give Angela false hope. But what she said next, she meant every word, "I give you my word, Angela: he will pay for this."

Angela gave Maura a kiss, "Thank you."

Maura grabbed a handful of soil, and she tossed it on the casket in the shallow grave. "I'm sorry, Jane. I truly am. I swear to you: the killer will not go unpunished."

And just like that, Maura transitioned from denial to anger. She wasn't going to let Jane's death be in vain. No. Someone had to pay; it was the Doyle way. It was the only way.

Without another word, Maura cut through the field.

From afar, Finn gave chase. "Wait, Maura! Where are you going?"

"To do my damn job, is what! I will turn over every last rock in this God forsaken city if I have to, to find the bastard that did this! When I am through with him, death won't come soon enough, and when it does, it will be a sweet blessing. A blessing he most certainly, does not, deserve."

"No." Finn grabbed Maura's arm, and held it. "I don't want you at that job, anymore. That cop has been nothing but trouble. And now that she's gone, you should be, too. She was bad news, from day one."

"Don't, Finn, I'm warning you.

"Open your eyes, Maura. You and I both know there's no such thing as a good cop. The only good cop, is a dead cop. She's right where she belongs."

Maura slapped Finn with a sharp right. "Don't you dare talk about her like that! She saved my life not once, but twice! She lost her life because of me! She's done more for me these past months than you ever did for me in your wretched lifetime. All you ever do is take, take, take from me."

"Maura —"

"No! I may be Paddy Doyle's daughter, but I did not choose this path. You did. Everything I've done, every sacrifice I've made, and every tortured soul I've taken, was for you, Finn. And now, you've gotten everything you've ever wanted. So do not, for one second, stand in the way of what I want."

Maura slapped away Finn's hand.

Even in death, that bitch still managed to wedge herself between them. That bitch was a pain in living, and a curse in death.

Finn watched as Maura peeled out, and drove off. And that's when a reflective glare in the distance caught his eye. Finn held up a protective hand to shield his eyes from the piercing ray. And when he looked up again, it was gone.

\- o -

Unbeknownst to those in attendance, the entire procession was under visual surveillance via a sniper scope. The concealed location was one klick south east of Memorial Gardens. It was far enough to provide the perfect ground for cover, yet close enough to make a move if necessary.

When the last of the Rizzolis departed, the job was done. Everything was packed up. Nothing was left behind.

\- o -

Finn was fuming. Maura has never spoken to him in that harsh tone before. That tone was always reserved for those she deemed a foe. But that wasn't the worst of it. In all his twenty-nine years of life, even during their tempestuous childhood, Maura has never beaten him before. Today was a first. And hopefully, with that cunt out of the way, it will be the last. Finn didn't want to lose Maura. But no matter what he said, what he did, or how hard he tried, Maura was slipping farther and farther away from him.

Finn needed a distraction, and an outlet for all that pent up anger. And he had just the girl for that. Well, twelve girls, to be exact.

After they had struck a deal with Ashen Bogdani, it was smooth sailing thus far. It was a bit cliché, but they decided to use a massage parlor as a front. Why mess with a winning formula that worked? At this particular parlor, patrons got more than just a massage and a happy ending, if they could afford it.

As soon as Finn approached the store, he could already tell something was amiss. It was four in the afternoon. It wasn't exactly peak hour, but they were still open for business. The store sign read closed. And the front door was locked, but the lights were still on.

Finn was immediately put on high alert. He pulled out his Mark XIX Desert Eagle, and slowly, he entered the premise.

The first causality was Ashen Bogdani. His lifeless body was splayed on the lobby floor. His throat had been sliced open, from ear to ear.

Finn combed the rooms, one by one. And in each and every single one of the back rooms, were the bodies of all the girls they had purchased only a week prior. Their bodies were in disarray. And the blood, there was so much blood. The girls didn't have it as lucky as Ashen Bogdani. No. They suffered, in living and in death. They likely died of exsanguination; their blood had been drained clean from their veins. The place was flooded, much like a basement would during a heavy downpour, only in this scenario, it was blood and not rainwater.

When Finn got to the last room, his heart skipped a beat. "Tomlin!"

Tomlin was in terrible shape. His face was almost swollen beyond recognition.

Finn felt for a pulse, and thankfully, he found one. "Tomlin! Stay with me, buddy!"

Tomlin spat out a mouthful of heavy blood clots, and said, "He wants me to give you a message: you're next."

\- o -

The car door opened, and closed.

"Took you long enough." Agent Holiday handed a file over, "A junkie was brought to my attention this morning. He has two pending homicide charges, but get this, he was also in possession of high grade, tailored cocaine. Special orders only."

"And?"

"The cocaine is structurally identical to the Peruvian shipment DCU seized last month. If the entire shipment was seized, like we originally thought, where the Hell did this identical batch come from?"

"Are you, honestly, asking me?"

"We traced the source of the influx, and all roads lead back to the Doyle clan. I originally thought the mole was just another dirty cop on the take, and had taken a bribe to secure the release of Julio Miguel Díaz. But I was mistaken. This isn't just another dirty cop. The guy's on Paddy Doyle's payroll. And that complicates things, significantly."

"Is that why I'm here?"

"You said you would sleep on it. Well, you've slept long enough. Now will you take the damn case?"

\- o -

 **A/N: Ask, and ye shall receive. So, ask away.**


	9. CH 8: The Dilemma

**CH 8: The Dilemma (Choices, Decisions & Resolves)**

Jane Clementine Rizzoli was a lot of things: fearless, gutsy, charming, humorous, and she was most certainly stubborn as Hell. Not even Death, himself, was able to get her to rest in peace. Jane, downright, refused to die. Besides Lt. Cavanaugh and Korsak, nobody else knew she was still alive and kicking.

She was the intended target. And those that stood in the killer's way were nothing more than collateral damage; innocent lives lost. No. Jane refused to let anybody else died because of her. And that's exactly why she came up with the idea to fake her own death. If the killer had gotten what he truly desired most, her death should be enough to quench his bloodlust, for now. But there was no guarantee; once a killer, always a killer. The only way to truly stop a killer is either life in prison, or a bullet to the head. Jane hoped for the first, but truly desired the latter.

The funeral procession had to appear genuine if they wanted to fool the killer. Which meant the BPD spared no expense. Jane watched the entire procession unfold via a sniper scope. Based on experience, and perhaps a gut feeling, there was a good chance the killer will show up, to marvel at his handiwork. She did not want to take any chances, not when it came to those she cared for and hence, the sniper rifle. If anything went array, she would be there to step in.

Jane recognized many of the attendees. And the ones that she didn't recognize didn't raise any alarm bells. But she didn't leave emptyhanded; there was one thing. When the eulogies were being read, every single one of the mourners were captivated, or had their cheeks stained with tears. One gentleman, in a tailored black suit, caught her eye when he took that exact moment to up and leave. From what Jane could observe, the man appeared indifferent. But that wasn't all. When Jane got a good look at the guy's profile, she was immediately struck with an intense bolt of déjà vu.

Jane was certain she's seen him before, but she couldn't exactly pinpoint where. She had a hunch, though. The killer obviously has a vendetta against her. There was one particular case that haunted her, till this day. And she was almost certain that's where she recognized him from. But she needed confirmation. And that's exactly where she was headed. But just in case she was right, she had an idea, but she needed help.

Jane punched in a number.

"Chang, speaking."

"Hey, Susie."

A long pause was followed by, "Who's this?"

"Really, Susie?"

"Detective Rizzoli?" Susie stuttered, "But…what…how?"

"Look, I don't have time to get into the specifics with you right now. I need a huge favor."

"How do I know you're really Jane Rizzoli, and not a Nigerian prince after my bank account?"

Jane made a face, "Really? That's the first thing that comes to mind? Fine. You're favorite genre is heavy metal, and your favorite song is 'Shine On' by SOil."

"That doesn't prove anything. A lot of people —"

"You're the person that stole Pike the Tyke's Thanksgiving sandwich from the dead fridge. And then there was the time you spiked his morning coffee with heavy laxatives, and he had liquid diarrhea for the entire day."

Susie exclaimed, "Jane! You're alive! I knew the cosmos wouldn't be that cruel."

"Thanks, Susie. Listen, about that favor."

"Anything."

"I'm going to shoot you an email with several photos. They're about two years old. I need you to age-enhance them for me, to present day. Would that be possible?"

"Certainly. I'll have the perimeter set to reflect the timeline you mentioned."

"Great. I need those ASAP." Jane added, "And, Susie, I need you to keep this between us. Not a peep, not even to Maura. Got it?"

"Only if you keep mine."

"Deal."

\- o -

The unit was roaring with life, though Maura managed to drown out much of the sound. Maura wasn't in her lab; she made a home for herself at Jane's desk, in her chair, by her things. It was odd, but it made her feel closer to Jane, and that in turn gave her the drive to push forth with the case.

Progress was at a snail's pace. CSRU was able to recover majority of the VBIED from the crime scene. Everything from the power supply, trigger, detonation, and main charge was professionally done. It wasn't amateur hour. Whoever masterminded the explosion knew exactly what they were doing. The IED didn't contain any shrapnel, which meant the killer targeted Jane specifically. The crime wasn't perpetrated at random. It was premediated. And it was personal.

The victim was one, Matilda Ramsay. The body was more or less incinerated by the explosion. Practically all the forensic evidence was destroyed. Both time of death and cause of death were unknown, as well. The body didn't offer much help, not in its current state.

Matilda Ramsay lived on the other side of town near Beacon Hill. There was no reason for the victim to be in that neighborhood. The killer must have brought Ramsay there. But why this particular location? Maura couldn't even call herself an amateur detective, but she thoroughly understood what it felt like to be a killer. And that's exactly the mindset she was tapping into at the moment. She wasn't Dr. Isles. At this precise moment, she was Maura Isles: Paddy Doyle's daughter; and heir to the Doyle Clan.

The victim, Matilda Ramsay, was selected either at random, convenience, or because the killer had a personal connection with her; Maura may never know. And then there was the house. Something about the place bugged her. The house was severely damaged. But initial findings could not locate a point of entry, which meant the killer didn't force his way in. He either had access to the keys, or to the property. The 'For Sale' sign upfront would indicate the property was available. But why this particular upscale home?

Curiosity forced Maura to pull up the MLS listing online for the property. Showings were by appointments only, and must be accompanied by the listing agent. Something inside her told her she was on to something.

Maura picked up the receiver, and she punched in the listing agent's number. Before she knew what to say, the call was picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mrs. Pan. My name is Dr. Maura Isles, and I'm with the Boston Police Department. I would like to ask you a few questions about your listing on 666 Emerald City Avenue."

"Oh, God. Is this about the body they found?"

"Yes. It is. Your listing, Mrs. Pan, have there been any recent showings for the property?"

"I handle all the appointments personally. And there hasn't been any showing for that house in weeks. Thank God. Am I right?"

Maura couldn't hide her disappointment. "I see."

"I don't remember off the top of my head, but I did keep a list of all the agents that showed the property before the security system broke."

"Bed pardon?"

"The property's vacant, and the homeowners were concerned hooligans would ransack the place. So when the security system was still functional, the property had a lockbox, and only licensed realtors had access. It's been down for a month, and that's why showings are now by appointments only. You can't be too careful these days."

"Did you call to have the system repaired?"

"Repeatedly. But nobody's gotten back to me yet. The things I do for a commission."

"What's the name of the security company?"

"Rapid Security Systems."

Maura quickly jotted down the name.

"Is there anything else, Dr. Isles?"

"Yes. If you could forward me that list of showings, that would be great, Mrs. Pan."

"Anything to help."

"Thank you."

Maura played with the sticky note. Something wasn't right. Her killer instinct egged her on. Maura picked up the receiver, and she dialed out.

\- o -

Copley Place was an upscale shopping center, located at the heart of Boston. The place was insanely crowded, even for a Friday. But then again, it was Black Friday; one of the busiest shopping days of the year. The sea of people provided him with the perfect cover, and an invaluable invisibility cloak. Nobody gave him a second glance.

The devices were small, and practically unnoticeable. And unless you knew where exactly to look, you'll simply overlook them. By the time he was done, a total of five devices were planted. They were hidden in plain sight, and scattered throughout the mall.

It was only 10:23AM.

The mail was about to be delivered.

But before that, he had an important phone call to make.

\- o -

A somber Frankie was at his desk, pouring over tips generated by the hotlines. The hotlines were swamped, yet nothing concrete thus far.

The phone rang.

Without a second thought, Frankie picked up. "Detective Rizzoli."

"Hello?" The woman said. "I…"

Frankie looked over at his console. The call was transferred from communications. "What can I help you with, Ma'am?"

"I called the front desk. They transferred me." The woman said nervously, "I…I think I know who the Boston Bomber may be."

This caught Frankie's immediate attention. "I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name."

"Jones. Isabelle Jones. You know what, this was a bad idea. I don't want to falsely accuse anybody of anything. I'm sorry I wasted your time, Detective."

"Please, Isabelle, don't be so quick to dismiss your intuitions. If you honestly believe you have vital information about the Boston Bomber, I would very much like to hear it. Would you be available to come down to the station for a quick statement?"

"I…" Isabelle hesitated; followed by a cough, "I can't. I have to be here when the kids get home. I'm sorry. Forget that I called."

"Why don't you give me your address? I'll do a quick drop by. I just need fifteen minutes of your time." Frankie held the receiver with his shoulder, and quickly scribbled down an address. "Thank you."

Frankie wanted the guy, badly. He wanted the person responsible for the death of his sister. But more importantly, Frankie wanted to hurt him. Even if he lost his badge, it would give him the satisfaction he so desired.

Frankie dropped by BRIC, "Hey, Korsak, I'm going to step out for a bit. I just got a credible lead, and I want to peruse it."

"You need back up?"

"No. It's fine." Frankie waved, "Ring me if you need anything."

And with that, Frankie left Homicide, and didn't look back.

\- o -

It was well past noontime, and yet, Maura found herself glued to Jane's desk. She hasn't had a single bite to eat all morning, though she wasn't the least bit famished. Maura had poured over everything made available to her. This killer was precise, elusive, and methodical at covering his tracks.

"Dr. Isles!"

It was the desk sergeant, Cole Rowland. And in his hands were an unmistakable package. It was reminiscent of the scene that unfolded only a week prior. Maura was struck with a hardened sense of déjà vu.

"It's another package for Jane."

Maura grabbed a pair of latex gloves, and she took the box from Rowland. "Was it via USPS, again?"

"No. It was delivered by a kid; maybe eight or nine. Some guy paid him fifty dollars to drop it off."

"Thank you. I'll take it from here, Sergeant Rowland."

Maura made her way into BRIC, where she was joined by Korsak and Frost.

"It's happened, again." Maura said, "Jane's received another package."

This caught both Korsak and Frost's undivided attention.

"Does the killer not know about Jane's death?"

"That's not possible. News of Jane's death has been the talk of the town, not to mention the countless headlines."

"Open it."

Maura tore through the taping, and opened the lid.

Barry gagged at the grisly sight.

It wasn't as gruesome as the severed head was, but this wasn't any better.

"What is that?"

"It's the female reproductive system." Maura examined the organ carefully. "The fallopian tubes, ovaries, uterus, and even parts of the cervix, it's all here. The only thing missing is the vaginal canal."

"That sick motherfucker!"

"The cuts are rough. And the organs are damaged. The killer doesn't possess the surgical skills necessary to make a clean extraction."

"There's more." Korsak ripped the note taped to the underside of the lid. "It's another fucking riddle."

"Read it."

"What is greater than God; more evil than the Devil; the poor has it, and the rich wants it. If I eat it, I will die. It's what you left me with. And it's where you'll find me. What am I?"

Frost banged his fist against the table in fury. "Why does the killer keep sending us these bullshit riddles?! He obviously wants us to find whatever it is he wants us to, so why toy with us?!"

"Narcissistic personality disorder." Maura said instinctively. "It's the killer's way of exerting control over us. He wants us to play his game, but by his rules. And he wants us to work for it."

"So why the female reproductive organs? What kind of message is the killer trying to convey?"

"We'll know soon enough." Maura asked, "Sergeant Korsak, can you read the riddle again?"

"What is greater than God; more evil than the Devil; the poor has it, and the rich wants it. If I eat it, I will die. It's what you left me with. And it's where you'll find me. What am I?"

Maura repeated the riddle beneath her breath. The gears in her head were churning a mile a minute.

"Even if we find the answer, it's too dangerous for us to pursue it; a lesson lest we forget."

"Nothing."

"Come again?"

"That's the answer: nothing." Maura continued, "Nothing is greater than God. Nothing is eviler than the Devil. The poor has nothing. And the rich wants nothing. If I eat nothing, I will die. That's the answer."

The abstract answer triggered more questions than answers. But Korsak had a thought. "The killer has a vendetta against Jane; that much is obvious. They must've crossed paths before. I'm certain of it. Frost, pull up all of Jane's caseloads, both closed and active ones."

Frost punched in Jane's badge number: V825. There were no less than two hundred hits. "We need to narrow the perimeters."

Maura had reviewed the case files, twice over. One anomaly that stuck out was Matilda Ramsay's clothes. Before the explosion, they recognized the outfit as being Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. After the explosion, they recovered a fraction of the fabric. The lab was able to determine the quality, consistency, and workmanship for the dress was expensive and tailor-made, and not generic. It meant something to the killer.

The children's story, and now the female reproductive system; it wasn't difficult to put two and two together. "The riddle says Jane took everything from him. Was Jane ever involved in a fatal shooting involving a child?"

Frost typed that into the search bar, and the results came back with nil. "No. Jane was involved in thirty shooting. And of those, only nine were fatal. None involved children."

There was a missing link. Maura had all the pieces; she needed to piece them together to form the bigger picture. And that's when it clicked.

"Pregnancy." Maura blurted. "Detective Frost, can you check if Jane was ever involved in a fatal shooting involving a pregnant woman."

Korsak's eyes widened like quarters.

"Got it." Frost read aloud, "Jane was involved in a shooting that resulted in two fatalities. She was in pursuit of a homicide suspect, Brian Rosendale. Rosendale eventually ducked into a mall, where he held a hostage for hours on end. Jane made a judgment call. She got a clear shot of Rosendale, and she took it. But not before Rosendale slit the throat of the hostage. The victim was later identified as Isabella Jones. She was pronounced DOA. Jones was also six months pregnant. The doctors deemed the fetus as non-viable."

Korsak said, "It wasn't an easy call. Brian Rosendale was heavily armed, and unstable. It was unfortunate, but Jane made the right call. After the shooting, Jane was placed on desk duty, but IAD eventually cleared her."

"How certain are we that these two cases are related?" Frost asked. "For all we know, this could be one huge mix up, and we're heading down the wrong rabbit hole."

Frost had a point. This was one huge leap of faith, if that.

"Dr. Isles?" Officer Bradley Cooper knocked, "The head office of Rapid Security System left you a message."

"Thank you." Maura gave the note a read, "Detective Frost. The victim, Isabella Jones, does it list who her husband is?"

"Give me one moment." Frost pulled up the victim's marriage license. "The husband is listed as Casey Jones. Why?"

Maura held up the note, "CSRU didn't find any evidence of forced entry. So the killer either has a key, or access to the house. Rapid Security System just got back to me. Casey Jones was the technician assigned the work order. That's the connection, right there."

Frost didn't need to be told twice. "Casey Jones. Male. Thirty-six years old. He was enlisted with the 75th Ranger Regiment, in the Ordnance Unit as an Ordnance Specialist."

"That would explain the IED; they were professionally made and well executed. It fits the profile perfectly."

"Wait. There's more. Specialist Jones was dishonorably discharged. He was tried and convicted of involuntary manslaughter of an unnamed Afghani non-combatant. The UCMJ sentenced him to twenty-six months of military prison in Mannheim, Germany. He was recently released."

"That's our guy. The sick bastard blames Jane for the death of his wife and child."

"It's what you left me with. And it's where you'll find me." Maura repeated the last line of the riddle. "Where did the Jones live, before Casey Jones' enlistment?"

"147 Trenston Street North, Boston, MA."

"That's where we'll find Casey Jones."

"Frost, call SWAT and the bomb squad for back up. The guy's an ordnance specialist; I'm not taking any chances."

"Got it."

"I think there might be more to the story here, Sergeant Korsak." Maura held up her phone, "Rapid Security Systems just sent over an email of a list of work orders Casey Jones has yet to fulfill. If this lead doesn't pan out, I think we should check out each and every one of these properties."

"I'll take it under advisement, Dr. Isles. I'll call you if anything comes up."

"No." Maura is firmly, "I need to be there."

Korsak could tell Maura was adamant. So against his better judgement, he said, "Fine. You'll ride with me. But first, there's something I have to tell you about Jane."

"What is it?"

Korsak didn't know how else to say it, "Well, surprise: she's not dead."

"Wait! What?!"

\- o -

They were in a shipping container. Everything was a haze. The pounding in his temple intensified with every passing second. A pulley held the weight of his entire being by his delicate wrists. They ached, though that was the least of his worries.

Casey Jones threw another hard right, and pistol whipped Frankie with his own Glock.

The open laceration on Frankie's forehead gushed with fluidity as blood drenched his delicate pores.

Casey's erection was indiscriminate; it throbbed painfully at the sight of blood. It was fully erect, and it begged for sweet release.

"You have no one to blame but your dear sister."

"Don't you dare talk about Janie, you piece of shit!" Frankie pulled himself up by his hands, and he delivered a high kick.

It caught Casey Jones off guard, and sent him flying back.

Casey wasn't mad; he was impressed. "That was a good one. You, Rizzolis, you're a rambunctious bunch that needs to be put down."

"If I ever get my hands on you, I'll kill you myself! You hear me, you sick fuck?!"

Casey plugged in the humidifier. The machine hummed with the intensity of a honey bee. He then emptied a 2L bottle into the tray. And he turned the machine on.

"Sit tight. The fun's about to start."

\- o -

The entire neighborhood was blocked off. Residents from nearby houses were evacuated as a precautionary measure. When SWAT and Homicide arrived at 147 Trenton Street, the first thing they noticed was Jane's police cruiser, parked in the driveway.

That's when Korsak ordered SWAT to stand down. The last thing he needed was a friendly fire that resulted in the actual death of Jane Rizzoli.

The front door was ajar.

Korsak gave the signal. And on three, they stormed the place.

"Boston Police!"

Jane turned on her heels; her gun pointed directly at Korsak. "Jesus, Korsak! Don't do that."

"Is he here, Jane? Did you clear the house?"

"Yeah. I've cleared the place, but I haven't touched a single thing. Not after the last time."

Korsak grabbed his radio, "The house's clear. Send the bomb squad in. We need the place swept."

"Jane!"

Jane turned at the sound of her name, and before she knew it, Maura was in her arms.

Maura encircled her arms around Jane's neck, and she squeezed her with every muscle fiber in her being; her face nuzzled perfectly in her neck.

Jane returned the gesture. "I missed you, too, Maura."

"We can celebrate later." Korsak said, "Let's get the Hell out of here so the bomb squad can do their thing."

"No. Please, stay."

The TV in the living room turned on. And there, on the screen, was Casey Jones.

"I assure you, Detective Rizzoli, there are no explosives in the house."

Jane, instinctively, pushed Maura behind her. The TV was mounted with a web cam.

"We know who you are. There's nowhere to run, and there's nowhere to hide. We will find you, Casey. So why don't you spare yourself the trouble and misery, and just give yourself up."

"This was never about me getting away. This was, and always has been, about you, Jane."

"You want me?" Jane screamed, "Here I am! Come get me!"

"You had me fooled for a while. I was there at your funeral, you know, but your inexperience gave you away. You were positioned Eastward, but the sun was to the West. You didn't account for the glare from your scope. But then again, you're not a trained sniper, so I don't blame you."

Jane said through gritted teeth, "What do you want?"

"This could have ended with you, Jane, but you just wouldn't die. And now, there's going to be more bloodshed, and it's all because of you."

The TV screen was then split into four quarters. Casey Jones retained one of the screens. In the next screen over was a live-feed of a mall. Jane immediately recognized the structure.

"I don't think you need an introduction to Copley Place. It's the place where you murdered my wife, and unborn child. I have the place riddled with IEDs. And might I remind you, today's Black Friday, so the place is swarming with shoppers."

Jane was rooted to the floor, paralyzed with trepidation.

A third screen lit up. It was a live-feed of a woman tied, and gagged, to a chair. She was visibly distraught. And that's when the camera zoomed out, and revealed her stomach. The woman was heavily pregnant.

"Meet Isabelle Jones. She's the unfortunate soul that just so happens to share the same name as my late wife. Oh, and if you haven't noticed yet, she's eight months pregnant. She's already the mother of two, and a dotting wife to a loving husband. They have the picture perfect family."

"Why are you doing this?!"

"I'm not doing anything. It's up to you, Jane, on whether or not you want to repeat history, and have yet another Isabelle Jones die with their blood on your hands!" Casey added, "And this time, the fetus is viable. So it's two lives for the price of one."

Jane balled her fist tight, as she trembled with anger.

The fourth, and final, screen lit up.

Maura covered her mouth as she muffled a gasp.

Korsak was stunned.

It was Frankie; beaten, bloodied, and battered.

"No, no, no!" Jane ran up, and grabbed the TV, "Frankie!"

"He can't hear you. But I can, loud and clear."

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?!"

"I want you to suffer. I want you to bear an unimaginable burden of guilt, to know that it was you, and you alone, that caused the death of all these innocent lives."

A timer appeared in the far corner of the screen.

"Are you going to take a utilitarian approach, maybe an emotional one, or will you make it personal? You have ten minutes. Do you save all those patrons at the mall, the pregnant Isabelle Jones, or your own flesh and blood, Frankie Rizzoli. The choice is yours. I will spare only one. The other two will die. If you refuse to choose, all three will die. If you attempt to evacuate the mall, I will remotely detonate the IEDs. There is no way out of this, Jane. Make a decision. And live with the consequences of your resolve. The choice is yours."

Jane fell to her knees.

Tick tock.

Time waits for no one.

\- o -

 **A/N: At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we will remember them. Lest we forget.**


	10. Chapter 9: Showdown

**CH 9: Showdown**

The situation was dire. Action needed to be taken.

Barry was near the front foyer, and had watched everything unfold from the back. He was out of frame, and unseen by Casey Jones; this afforded him freedom.

Barry had worked with Jane for as long as he has been with Homicide. He knew his partner, inside and out. Jane was far too emotional for her own good. Though Barry hated everything Casey Jones stood for, if what he said was indeed true, then of the three choices, the answer was blatantly obvious.

Of all three, the imminent threat of Copley Place far outweighed the other two. Today was Black Friday, which meant the place was packed with shoppers and bargain hunters. If Jones blew the place up, the death toll would be in the hundreds, if not higher. The high death toll would be enough justification for one to choose Copley Place, in a heartbeat. But not Jane; she would refuse to choose, which was why he had to make the decision for her.

Given what Barry could observe, Casey Jones was in a confined space. It was unlikely he was anywhere near Copley Place; in fact, logic dictate he would be somewhere afar, and away from the blast zone. It likely Jones was monitoring Copley Place remotely, perhaps via its CCTV system. Barry had an idea. It was good. But he needed to act fast. Time was of the essence.

Barry exited the residence.

"Lieutenant!"

Cavanaugh was behind the perimeter border; he heard everything via live feed. "You think Jones' threat is genuine?"

"I do. But I have an idea." Barry explained, "Casey Jones isn't one site. I'm certain of it. He warned us not to evacuate Copley Place, or he'll remotely detonate the IEDs, which means he's monitoring the place. I think he hacked the mall's CCTV. If you give me enough time, I can cut a portion of the feed, and play it on a loop. Jones won't suspect a thing. And it'll give us enough time to safely evacuate the place; the last thing we need is a stampede."

"It's risky. And it can endanger Frankie and Isabelle Jones."

"I know, Sir. But it's the right call."

Cavanaugh didn't want to admit it, but Barry was right. "Do it."

Barry didn't need to be told twice.

Jane wasn't going to like this. It wasn't an easy call to make, but it was the right one.

\- o -

The humidifier hummed at a low constant pitch.

Frankie could barely see through the dense vapor that clouded the room, though he was certain it wasn't water in the tray. The surrounding air smelled sweet, with a vague hint of nutmeg. Whatever the chemical was, it made him lethargic, and incredibly drowsy.

The weight of his body was supported by his wrists. The paramount of strain on his body was at its breaking point, and yet, Frankie felt not the slightest discomfort or pain. The Sandman had blessed him with his presence. Frankie could barely keep his eyes open; his eyelids weighed down heavily on him. He couldn't fight it; he wanted to let sleep consume his entire being. And he would've, too, if he didn't catch sight of something peculiar.

Visibility was low; Frankie could barely make out his feet. But there, mounted in the corner, was a camera. Frankie's tired eyes caught the infrared light that illuminated bright red. It was live. The fucker was watching him.

The dormant rage in Frankie was reawakened; his blood boiled. And it reinvigorated him with a renewed sense of energy. Frankie wanted to live. He had to live, so he can rip the fucker's face off for everything he's done, but most importantly of all, to avenge Jane.

Frankie tugged at his restraints. He hung from a rusted chain that was fastened to what appeared to be a ceiling hook. The hook was reinforced, but equally as rusted. But rust or not, it did the job. It held his weight with ease. And no matter how hard he tugged, the hook held firm.

The renewed adrenaline wasn't going to last much longer. Frankie knew he had to act fast. But his idea well had run dry. This abundant sense of helplessness infuriated him; he had so much fight in him, yet there was nothing for him to do; not a damn thing!

Frankie should've kicked the fucker in the face when he had the chance. He would ruin that smug face of his. And that's when he was suddenly struck with a eureka moment. The kick! The chain was rusted, and so was the ceiling hook. It might just work.

It wasn't common knowledge, but Frankie was a fan of Crossfit. And all that training came in handy at this precise moment. Frankie held onto the chain, and he climbed his way up like you would a rope climb, with only his upper body strength. When he got to the top, Frankie summoned whatever core strength he had, and he pulled his legs up and above his head, so that he was essentially standing upside down, with his feet pressed flat against the ceiling.

Frankie held on tight. And he began stomping on the surrounding area. The shipping container was made of aluminum. If he generated enough force, the rusted hook might give way. It was definitely worth a try.

Stomp after stomp, tug after tug, after God knows how long, it became apparent that this wasn't going to work. The reinforced hook held. Exhausted and fatigued, and unable to hold himself in this position a moment longer, Frankie dropped harder than dead weight. When 170lbs of force, combined with gravity, dropped with untamed force, the hook tore from its frame, and Frankie landed flat on his back; the wind knocked out of him.

There wasn't a moment to spare.

Frankie was one step closer to his goal: the fucker was his!

\- o -

"Tick tock, Jane. Time is counting down."

Jane could not, and would not, let his monster hurt another soul because of her. "No!"

"No?"

"You heard me. I refuse to play this sadistic game of judge, jury, and executioner."

"Well, if that's the case, I'll just kill everybody then."

Maura stood out of frame. It pained her to see Jane hurt like this. It made her heart ache, terribly. She wanted to, she really did, but she held back the urge to run to Jane's side and console her. Maura knew that if she truly wanted to help Jane, she had to be practical.

And then she noticed something.

Maura closed her eyes, and she focused. From a young age, Maura realized she had perfect pitch. It came in handy, too. And this was one of those times. The sound, it was a D on the major scale. But more so, she recognized that sound from anywhere. It was extraordinarily unique. The sound originated from Isabelle Jones' live feed.

With purpose, Maura entered the frame. She eased Jane back onto her feet. She did so under the guise of a concerned friend, but Maura knew better. She had her right hand on Jane's lower back. She tapped the following message in Morse code:

 **Save** : ••• •— •••— •

 **Jones** : —•—• •• —• • •••

 **Buy** : —••• ••— •• ••

 **Time** : — •• — — •

Jane caught every single word. She couldn't believe it, though. She turned, and she stared into Maura's serene eyes. No words were needed.

Jane got the message, loud and clear. There was hope. All she needed to do was buy time. She could do that, for she had something Casey Jones wanted.

"Stop the timer, Casey. The game's over."

"Oh? Care to elaborate, Detective Rizzoli?"

"I have something you want."

While Jane engaged Casey Jones, Maura slowly backed away. When she was certain Casey Jones could no longer see her, Maura immediately grabbed Korsak.

"What's the matter?"

"I know where Isabelle Jones is, Sergeant!"

"What? How?"

"In Jones' live broadcast, I heard a distinct D note on the major scale in the background."

"Okay." Korsak asked confusingly, "So?"

"It's the hum of a Boeing 787. The twin engines are Rolls-Royce Trent 1000. They're designed to hum at an absolute pitch. I'm certain that's what I heard in there, Sergeant."

Korsak's eyes lit up at the implication, "You think she's by Logan airport."

"I do."

"But that's still a big area to cover."

Maura held up her phone. "I still have a list of all the unfulfilled work orders assigned to Casey Jones. There are at least twenty properties. But one particular property, it's only thirty miles from Logan, and well within the sound barrier of 20 khz. It's highly probable that Isabelle Jones is being held hostage there."

Korsak noticed the confidence that sparkled behind Maura's brown eyes; that was all the assurance he needed. "Okay. Let's go."

"No. I'll give you the address. But I'm of more use to Jane here."

"I'll ring you if we find Isabelle Jones."

"Not if, but when, Sergeant." Maura corrected. "And, please do."

Maura didn't want to leave Jane's side, for plenty of reasons. For one, she had a promise to keep.

\- o -

"Stop the timer, Casey. The game's over."

"Oh? Care to elaborate, Detective Rizzoli?"

"I have something you want."

When Jane's worst nightmare was confirmed, she had prepared beforehand photos of Isabelle's niece, Emma, all age-enhanced to reflect her respective age. The resemblance was there. Under scrutiny, you would be able to determine the photo's authenticity, but via live stream over a web-cam, Jane had a chance; she just might be able to pull this off.

"Your wife, Isabelle Jones, she's dead. And for that, I'm sorry, Casey. But her baby, it wasn't non-viable like you originally thought." Jane held up her phone, and directed it at the web-cam. "Her pregnancy was viable at six months. And this is her, your daughter."

Casey's face just about said it all; it was a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and skepticism.

"If this is some sort of con, Jane, then it's ill-advised. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, I'll cut you, bitch."

Jane said one thing, and one thing only. "Melly."

That struck a chord, and it showed. The timer stopped, right then and there.

"Melly is short..."

"...for Melanie. Yes. I know." Casey asked, "How did you know?"

"Not here. Meet me in person, and we'll settle this, once and for all."

Casey hesitated. Then he walked off screen, and never returned. But his audio remained on, "Your Glock. Drop it on the floor."

Jane did as Casey asked.

"And your ankle piece."

Jane didn't know how he knew, but he did. She complied.

"Death leaves a heartache no one can heal. Love leaves a memory no one can steal."

Jane said nothing.

"That's where you'll find me. Come alone. And, needlessly to say, don't try any funny business. I am watching you. If I find out you're lying to me, I will slice Angela's throat open, and I'll make you watch. Mark my words."

The connection ended, and the TV screen faded black.

A huge sigh of relief escaped Jane. The temporary threat of Casey Jones has been diffused, but the man was still a danger to others. This had to end. But unfortunately for her, she had no idea what to do next. She had nothing else up her sleeve.

Deep down, Jane knew this confrontation would end in death; it was only a matter of whom. But she had no choice, she had to do this. If she didn't, Casey Jones wasn't going to stop, and more people will die because of her.

"Don't even think about it." Cavanaugh accosted Jane in the driveway. "You are not going anywhere without backup."

"This may be our one and only chance to stop him."

"And how do you plan on doing that, exactly? You're unarmed. And you, literally, only have one arm, Rizzoli. This isn't a western showdown. And I sure as Hell, am not going to let you walk into an ambush."

"This has to end."

"And it will. We'll get him, Jane." Cavanaugh reasoned, "Frost has Copley Place evacuated; Korsak found Isabelle Jones; and Frankie was admitted to Boston General. You don't need to do this."

"Where's Maura?" Jane couldn't spot the doctor anywhere. "She was here a moment ago."

"Dr. Isles is fine. She got called away for an emergency."

It gave her tremendous relief to know that everybody she cared for was fine.

"I want uniforms to escort Ma to the station, and placed on lockdown until Casey Jones is in custody."

Cavanaugh could always pull rank, and order Jane to stand down. But he knew her, maybe too well; there was no way Jane Clementine Rizzoli was going to walk away from this.

"Will you at least tell me where you're going?" Cavanaugh asked, "Where was that quote from?"

"I'll be fine, Lieutenant."

Jane noticed the trunk of her cruiser was ajar. She gave it no mind when she slammed it shut. Slowly, but surely, Jane peeled out the driveway.

That verse Casey Jones recited, she recognized it.

Jane knew exactly where he was.

\- o -

It took Jane twenty minutes to arrive at her destination. She was on the other side of town, at Fairview Cemetery. The lot was a public cemetery, owned and operated by the City of Boston. Isabelle's funeral was paid for by the State of Massachusetts. The truth was, in living Isabelle Jones struggled to make ends meet; in death, nobody gave a rat's ass about her.

The verse that Casey Jones recited, it was the one Jane picked for Isabelle, to be marked on her tombstone. The verse was neither religious nor cultural. In truth, Jane selected that specific verse because it felt…right.

This was where it all started. It was only fitting that this would be where it all came to an end.

It was late in the afternoon. Fairview Cemetery was deserted; there wasn't a living soul in sight.

"Don't move."

Jane put her hands up, and slowly, she turned to face her nightmare.

Jane has only ever seen photos of Casey Jones. The man before her today, it differed tremendously from his photos. For one thing, the man appeared gaunt, and weathered by stress. Casey Jones was not a well man; that much was apparent.

"I'm here, and unarmed like you asked, Casey. There's no need for that." Jane pointed at the Beretta M9. "Let's talk this through."

Casey didn't lower the gun. "That picture you showed me, she wasn't my daughter. That was Emma."

Jane flinched, ever so slightly. "So you knew?"

"I'm not stupid."

"Then why agree to meet me, if you knew I was pulling a fast one on you?"

Casey got straight to the point. "How did you know about Melly?"

"Isabelle was raised by Melanie, her grandmother. When she was pregnant with her first child, a daughter, she wanted to name her daughter after her Oma."

"I know that!" Casey jerked the gun dangerously at Jane. "What I want to know, is how the fuck do you know?!"

"Why do you think the UCMJ convicted you of manslaughter with such a speedy trial?"

Casey's voice cracked, "What?"

"When Isabelle realized just what you were capable of, she agreed to testify against you as a witness for the prosecutor in your trial. She genuinely feared for her life. She testified, under oath, about the domestic violence you subjected her to, and your violent tendencies. In exchange for her testimony, the DOJ agreed to her enrollment in Witness Protection."

Jane had always known, but it was obvious that Casey Jones had not the slightest inkling.

"Before Isabelle fully transitioned into the Program, she was tragically killed because of my negligence. An emergency C-section resulted in a live birth; your daughter, Melanie. The DOJ kept their promise; Melly was fully integrated into the Program. She's with a family that loves and cares for her, like their very own."

"Where?" Casey screamed, "Where is my daughter?!"

"I don't know." Jane answered truthfully, "But I promise you, Casey, if you turn yourself in, I will do everything within my power to arrange a meeting."

Casey said nothing, nor did he lower his gun.

"I give you my word."

"Your words mean jack-shit to me!" Casey cocked his Beretta, and he aimed the barrel directly at Jane's head, execution-style. "Tell me why I should blow your face off!"

"You're not going to shoot me, Casey. If you wanted to, you've already done so, ages ago."

"You're right. A bullet to the head would be a blessing for the likes of you."

"Don't do this, Casey. If you ever want to see Melly —"

But before Jane could even finish her sentence, Casey Jones had tackled her to the ground. Jane would've been a match for him if this was a fair fight, but it wasn't. Jane was handicapped. Casey had Jane straddled beneath him. The Beretta M9 was replaced, and in its place was a large military knife.

Jane fought Casey Jones off the best she could, but she was at a disadvantage. And regardless of how hard she thrashed, she remained pinned and immobile.

Casey raised the large military knife high above his head. "See you in Hell."

This was it.

Jane braced herself for the fatal blow.

Something caught Casey's eye in his peripheral vision. It was the familiar glare from a scope. But by the time he realized what all this meant, it was already too late.

A single shot rang out. The thunderous roar echoed in the clearing.

A 50 DTC bullet entered Casey Jones' left temple, and it exited out the right side. The high velocity impact of the bullet blew out his cranium, and his brain exploded, right then and there. There was brain matter everywhere.

Casey Jones collapsed.

It was over.

\- o -

The kill shot was taken three hundred feet away.

And it was made with deadly precision.

Maura refocused her eye, and she eased her finger off the trigger.

It was done.

Casey Jones paid with his life for all the harm he brought upon Jane. He had no one to blame but himself.

Maura kept her word.

\- o -

 **A/N: "Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that."**


	11. Chapter 10: Red-Handed

**CH 10: Red-Handed**

The Homicide unit had the day off, given the series of unfortunate events.

And in all honesty, Maura should've taken the time off to rest. Her shoulder was bruised, and ached terribly. The recoil from the Barrett M82 was much stronger than she originally anticipated. The semi-automatic rifle differed from the ones she's used to, which caused her to injure herself negligently. It wasn't like she had a choice. She grabbed whatever weapon was available to her right then, and there. But it was well worth it, if it meant saving Jane's life.

Over these past months, Maura came to a definitive conclusion that wasn't easy to accept: she liked Jane. What started off as mutual respect for one another, had developed into fascination, grown into admiration, and now finally settled upon affection. It was a gradual development. And one she couldn't deny herself. It wasn't something she planned, but some of the best things in life are unexpected.

The heavy downpour was a deterrent, but not enough. And so, here she was.

Maura rang the doorbell. Her shoulders tensed when she heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

The door opened.

"Maura?"

"Hi."

"You're sopping wet."

"I didn't bring an umbrella." Maura held up a bag. "I brought you food. I thought…well...cause, you know."

"Nice to see you, too. Come in."

"How's your arm?"

"It's coming along. The doctor says I still can't masturbate for another two, three months. But other than that, I can't complain."

Maura was never good at detecting humor, or sarcasm, and this was one of those instances. The way Jane spoke, it sounded genuine. And it left her reddened.

Jane smirked, "I'm kidding, Maura."

"Oh."

"I have a vibrator."

"Have you been drinking?"

"Why, yes I have." Jane opened her fridge door, "You want a beer?"

"I'll have a glass of Pinot noir, if you have any."

"I have beer that doesn't sound pretentious, does that count?"

"Then beer it is."

Jane popped open a bottle for Maura.

Maura took a swig of the cool brew, and to her surprise, it was fantastic. "This is good!"

"I know, right?"

"So this is where Jane Rizzoli lives, huh?" Maura took in the apartment. "It's cozy."

"It's a dump. And don't sit on the couch. You'll get foam rubber all over your Vogue clothes."

"Why's there foam rubber on your couch?"

"There's a hole in it. And the duct tape came loose."

The look of horror on Maura's face said it all.

"That's another story, for another time." Jane asked, "So what bring you here, Dr. Isles?"

Maura took out two containers. "I hope you haven't eaten yet. I made you Classic Ragù Bolognese."

Jane's tired eyes lit up brighter than Christmas lights. "I was going to have a bowl of Lucky Charms, and call it a night."

"Lucky Charms? Is that some sort of frozen TV dinner?"

Jane took in a spoonful hungrily, and as soon as the spice hit her palate, she melted like butter. "My God, Maura. This taste like angels."

Jane wasn't kidding when she said she was hungry. She devoured the pasta faster than Pac-man eating pac-dots.

"I take it Angela's still mad, then."

"So mad. But hey, better a liar than, you know, dead."

"How, Jane?" Maura asked, "That explosion was fierce. How's it even possible you survived?"

"My Pop's a plumber; I used to do a lot of work for him during my summer holidays. I know construction like the back of my hand. The house was vacant, which meant the gas line was shut. The explosion would've been contained, and wouldn't magnify, which was my primary concern."

"It makes sense. Reports indicate that 86% of all residential explosions are attributed to a gas leak in the presence of an ignition source."

"Ah. How I've missed your Google talk."

"But you're unscathed, and have virtually no indication of burns on you."

"I won't lie to you: it was a gamble. I think a lot of it had to do with the fact that I was at the center of the explosion. The blast produced shockwaves that surged away from the ignition point. Much like the eye of a storm, it's usually the safest point; and it this case, it really was. I dropped into the basement, and I prayed for the best."

"You risked your life based on nothing more than a hunch, and a prayer?" Maura remarked, "You're incredibly bold."

"It was either that, or risk both of us being killed. And I couldn't have that."

Maura said nothing. She reached over, and she wiped a speck of sauce from Jane's mouth.

Jane froze at the unexpected contact. "Thanks."

Maura's hand lingered.

Jane cupped Maura's hand over her cheek. "You alright?"

"I'm just glad you're okay."

Jane and Maura shared an intimate moment; the time around them stood completely still, as did their beating hearts.

But all good things must come to an end. Their exchange was rudely interrupted by a chime when the clock struck midnight.

Maura, sadly, retracted her hand. "It's getting late. I should go."

"No. Stay." Jane blurted. "It's pouring outside. And you've been drinking. Stay over. We'll grab breakfast in the morning."

Maura wasn't going to decline, not when she wanted the same thing. "I'll take the couch, then."

"Don't be silly. The hole on that thing will swallow you like a Bajoran wormhole."

"You're a Trekkie?" Maura smiled, "Really?"

"I'm full of surprises, Dr. Isles."

"I bet you are."

"Let's get you out of those wet clothes. But be warned, my clothes aren't from Milan, and they're not made with silk."

True to her words, Jane handed Maura a t-shirt, and a pair of shorts.

When everything was said and done, the pair found themselves tucked comfortably in bed. It was awkward, but simultaneously, it felt right, too.

"Night, Maura."

"Goodnight, Jane."

The room, absent any lights, was pitch black. But beneath that veil of darkness, was a glimmer of radiance from the street lights below. It made the room appear dream-like, much like now, here.

It didn't take much for Jane to be whisked away by the Sandman, though Maura didn't share the sentiment.

Maura watched with contentment at Jane's evening breathing. It wasn't right. But Maura couldn't help herself. She may never get another chance quite like this.

Maura brought her lips upon Jane's cheek, and she kissed her, ever so gently. "I think I can fall in love with you."

That was all she needed. Maura laid back down, and she allowed her body to relax. And soon, she, too, was whisked away.

Jane's brown eyes opened ever so slowly. It took a moment for Maura's candid confession to slowly sink it. It kept her up all night.

\- o -

The cool night air, after the rain, was particularly crisp and refreshing.

It was well past three in the morning, yet Finn couldn't bring himself to sleep. Tomlin was still in ICU, though his condition was now stable. Whoever did this had beaten him within an inch of his life.

Finn rarely showed his face in public; Tomlin and Ronnie did most of the legwork. But the anonymity offered little protection. Whoever was gunning for him knew his every move, including his identity. But Finn refused to stand down. He was going to face this battle head-on. But first, he needed to level the playing field.

Finn took a slow drag, and finished off his second cigarette.

A car rolled up, and came to a complete stop.

"I got your call."

"You got anything for me?"

A single sheet of paper, and that was it.

"The Giovannis are in the wind. The guy you're looking for is Gilberti Giovanni. There wasn't much available in the BPD database. But I was able to piggyback onto the FBI's NCIC network. Giovanni is wanted for several high profile murders, stateside. Long story short: the guy's a hired gun, and you're fucked, Finn."

Finn expected as much. This was bad.

"The guy's a closer. He takes jobs nobody in the right mind would even consider."

"Are you being sponsored to kiss his ass?" Finn asked frustratingly, "Shouldn't you be out there looking for him? The man's a wanted fugitive."

"I don't want to draw anymore unwanted attention than I already have. The last thing I need is to be outed."

Finn ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair.

"My suggestion: hit him before he hits you. An experienced gun like Giovanni, you gotta throw him off his game if you stand any chance."

"No shit. It's easier said than done."

"Well, think fast."

"I'll think of something. I always do."

"How's Tomlin?"

"Alive. But barely."

"Tomlin's a tough son of a bitch. He'll pull through. Now you, on the other hand, you're a coin flip."

"Fuck you."

"Luck, Finn."

Finn wasn't done yet. He said, "You should've let her die, you know. Jane Rizzoli will be the death of us, you mark my words."

"I don't tell you how to do your job; don't tell me how to do mine."

Finn needed to make a phone call. But first, he had a job for Ronnie, and his big mouth.

\- o -

Jane definitely woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning.

For starters, Maura was nowhere to be found. She left a hastily written note with no explanation as to her sudden departure. And then there was the confession. Jane was at a loss. Maura was stunning, intelligent, charitable, and Hell, she always smelled nice. She's never been in a relationship with a woman before. It was overwhelming, and intimidating. She needed time to process this.

And then there was Nina Holiday. The woman was worse than a bedbug infestation; she was impossible to rid. It didn't help that she was in her debt, too. Nina Holiday had pulled a lot of strings to dig up the truth about Melly Jones, the daughter of late Isabelle and Casey Jones.

The sun was out. It was much too bright for Jane's liking, especially before her first cup of Joe. Someway, somehow, Jane found herself at their usual meeting spot.

"Good morning, Jane. You're looking awfully crap-tastic today."

"I swear, Nina, one of these days, I'm going to throw you off this roof."

Nina handed Jane several files. "Needless to say: these are confidential. They're a list of suspects I've compiled that meet our criteria."

"This day just keeps getting better." Jane quickly thumbed through the pages. There were several faces she recognized, and even ones from her unit. "Really, Nina?"

"If they're clean, they have nothing to worry about."

"You're going to be the death of me, woman." Jane got to the last page, and yet again, it was another familiar face. "Joe Grant? You, honestly, think the head of IAD is our mole?"

"When I initially brought Grant in on the case, I didn't know this involved Paddy Doyle. You have no idea the power, and reach, Doyle has. If this mole is on Doyle's payroll, there's no telling how far this goes."

"That's far enough. Any farther and you'll be up to your elbow in my anus, cause frankly, you're a pain in my ass."

"I need your cell phone, too."

Jane made a face, "And I need health insurance, but we can't have it all."

Nina gestured with her hand, "Come on."

Jane grunted, and complied.

Nina loosened the back cover, and she planted a nano-chip near the SIM card. "You're bugged at all times, so be mindful of what you say."

"You want anything else? My first-born child, perhaps?"

"You're doing the right thing, Jane."

"I know. And that's why I hate you for it." Jane covered her mouth, and sneezed. "No more rooftops."

"The safest place is the most dangerous place."

"You need to cancel your Netflix subscription. You've been watching too much Jason Bourne."

\- o -

The sun was shining down brightly, with no cloud formation in sight. The temperature today was fairly tepid.

Maura opted for a long, yet stylish, trench coat. She walked up, and sat next to Finn on the park bench.

"I got your call this morning."

Finn handed her a cup, "Green tea with skim milk, and stevia."

"Thank you."

The siblings sat peacefully, and they enjoyed their drinks with a sense of nostalgia.

"I remember us playing here every day after school. I would spend hours on that swing, trying to do a 360º over the set. Mom didn't like us out and about, but you always managed to sneak in thirty minutes, just so I can play."

"The basic principles of aero-dynamics were against you, yet you tried, every day without fail, be it rain or snow." Maura added, "Your tenacity is your best quality, Finn."

"From the first moment Dad brought me home, you've always been there for me, Maura. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too. I never should've hit you. And I never should've said what I did."

"But you were right. And that's what pains me. You never wanted any of this. And now, Jesus, I'm in trouble, Maura. I need your help. I don't know what to do."

Not once, in all the years they've been siblings, has Maura ever heard such an admission, and concession, from Finn before. This was a first.

"The Giovannis brought in a hired gun. The guy's a ghost. He beat Tomlin to an inch of his life."

"What?!" Maura freaked out, "Why didn't you tell me sooner?!"

"I was angry with you. It felt as if you abandoned us. You chose her, Maura, over us; over me."

Maura knew, to a certain extent, Finn was right. "Well, I'm here now."

"I had Ronnie put the word out that I'm skipping town. I even booked a ticket for Seoul to appear genuine, of course."

Maura knew exactly what Finn was doing. "You want to force this hand?"

"I do. If he's coming for me, the very least I can do is control the timing. I can't be a sitting duck forever." Finn then suggested, "He's expecting me, but not you."

"What do you have in mind?"

"I want to pull a 'Jack in the Box'."

Maura was taken aback by the absurd suggestion. She hasn't done something like that in ages, maybe seven years, if not more. "That's risky, Finn."

"I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't desperate." Finn begged, "Please, Maura."

Maura knew her brother. Finn was a proud person; for him to openly beg her like this wasn't easy. That's when she realized just how dire the situation had to have been, for him to resort to this.

"Okay. I'll do it."

"Thank you!"

"I'm only doing this because I love you, Finn. And it's what Dad would've wanted. But I want you to remember, though we may not be related by blood, you'll always be my baby brother. Don't ever question my love, or loyalty, to you or the clan, again. Is that understood?"

"I won't. I swear."

\- o -

The day had gone from bad, to worse, to herpes simplex virus one.

Ma was still mad at her; Frankie was still on sick leave; Frost was on call; and Korsak was in the midst of prepping for an upcoming trial. And then there was Maura. She was still MIA. She wasn't taking any of her calls, either.

Jane sulked at her desk. She had survived an explosion, faked her own death, escaped an assassination attempt, and after all that, she still had a mountain of paperwork to deal with. Death sounded pretty appealing right about now.

"Hello, Detective Rizzoli."

"It's detective now, is it?" Jane turned in her chair at the familiar voice, "What do you want, Joe?"

"It's Lieutenant Grant." Joe said sternly. "And I'm here in an official capacity."

"What's the IAD want with me?"

Joe Grant held up a photo, "Do you recognize this weaponry?"

"Yeah. That's a Barrett M82." Jane shrugged her shoulders, "What about it?"

"It's the exact same rifle you signed out two weeks ago, on the 15th. Is that correct?"

"Joe, I am this close to cutting my ears off, just so I don't have to hear you talk anymore. Whatever it is you have to say, just spit it out."

"Call your union rep, Jane, you're going to need it."

"What? Why?"

"You're hereby under investigation for the shooting of Casey Jones."

"What?!"

\- o -

Night had long fallen. The shy moon hidden behind dark dense clouds. The street lights illuminated the darkened roads.

The day had come and gone with no surprises. Finn was on high alert. Any moment now, he expected some crazed gunman to storm the room, and riddle him with bullets. But that wasn't the case. There hasn't been so much as a fruit fly, much less a crazed gunman.

Word of his departure must have spread faster than a wild fire, and yet nothing. Finn had two hours to spare till he had to make his flight to Seoul. If Gilberto Giovanni doesn't strike now, then he was fucked; he was fresh out of ideas.

Finn exited the bar to a fairly empty street. There was nothing unusual. He banged his fist against the trunk in frustration. This was it: now or never.

Finn got in his car, and he began the agonizing drive to Logan airport. Short of crashing, Finn kept his eyes on his rearview mirror. There was no one tailing him.

"Come on, motherfucker." Finn said to himself, "You know you want to."

Thirty minutes into his hour drive, and Finn still has yet to spot Gilberti Giovanni. The bastard was good. He must have sensed something was off, or worst yet, Finn might have scared him away. The target he had on his back, it'll never go away.

Finn was more pissed than he was upset. He floored his car…and wham!

A flatbed truck ran a red light, and struck Finn's sedan right on its side. But the driver didn't stop. The flatbed truck continued its aggression, and it bulldozed the sedan like it was a toy car.

But through it all, the sturdy sedan remained on its wheels; an impressive feat.

When everything came to a screeching halt, both vehicles took a beating.

The door to the truck opened, and out jumped Gilberti Giovanni. In a calm and collected manner, Gilberti had his gun drawn, and he made his way to the driver's side door. But it wasn't what he expected. The door was ajar, and the driver was nowhere to be found.

This was definitely a first. In all honesty, Gilberti expected Finn to be unconscious at the wheel. A quick slice to the throat, and bing, bam, boom: done. This was interesting. They were in the middle of an industrial area. There was nowhere for him to run, and nowhere to hide.

Gilberti edged away from the carnage.

The sedan suddenly erupted with a thump, and then another, and then another.

Gilberti spun around, gun out and ready.

It originated from the trunk. There was someone in the trunk!

Gilberti went back, and carefully, he popped open the compartment.

It was a woman.

Gilberti lowered his barrel. The woman's cheap makeup had smudged, and frankly, made her look like a party clown. She was tied at the hands and feet, with her mouth gagged. He didn't know what she was doing in the back of Finn Doyle's car, but he recognized a whore when he saw one. The woman was yet another piece of Eastern European trash. She was no different from the ones he slaughtered in that atrocious massage parlor. Gilberti had already butchered twelve. Why not make it thirteen?

Gilberti stuffed his SIG Pro in his waistband, and he pulled out a gutting knife.

The woman shook her head violently, and she thrashed as Gilberti approached. The helplessness of the eyes, and the vulnerability that oozed from her pores, it spurred Gilberti's bloodlust.

Gilberti held her head still, and he brought his knife up to deliver the fatal blow.

The most basic self-defense technique applied: use their momentum to your advantage.

Maura grabbed Gilberti's hand, and as he pushed down, she pulled. This threw an unsuspecting Gilberti off his footing, to land on top of Maura in the cramp space of the trunk compartment. The car rocked as the bodies struggled. There were a lot of scuffling, and punches being thrown.

With much difficulty, Gilberti distanced himself from the car, and the crazed woman.

"You, fucking cunt!" Gilberti screamed, "You're dead!"

Maura pulled off the gag. And with one fluid movement, like she's practiced so many times before, she brought her arms up, elbows flared outside her hips, and she brought her arms down, hands to part at the hips. The zip tie snapped.

Gilberti's hands were empty. Something was wrong. The gutting knife, it was gone! The pain was dull. It wasn't as painful as one expected it to be. Gilberti reached up, and there, on his neck, with only the handle protruding, was his missing knife.

Gilberti struggled to breathe as fluids quickly filled his lungs. It was quick. And painless. And more than he deserved. He collapsed onto his knees, and then face-first onto the pavement.

But it wasn't over.

Something caught Maura's eyes. The lights superseded the sirens. No less than three police cruisers threw a sharp right, and were headed their way. Their lights were on, but their sirens were off. This was an ambush. The cruisers were ghosting.

Maura was in the trunk, with her feet still bound.

Even if she attempted to run, there was nowhere for her to run, nor hide.

There was a dead body she couldn't explain away.

Maura froze. This was it. She was going to be caught red-handed.

\- o -

 **A/N: All aboard! Next stop: Rizzle. Capital of Coitus. Population: Two.**


	12. Chapter 11: New Day, New Drama

**CH 11: New Day, New Drama**

The police cruisers were closing in, and fast.

Prison was not an option.

Instincts took over. Maura jumped out the trunk, and without a second thought, she pulled the gutting knife from Giovanni, and she stabbed herself in the pec muscle. She purposely avoided the lung. She quickly threw the knife aside.

The cruisers came to a screeching halt.

"Boston police! Let me see your hands!"

"Don't shoot!" Maura held her hands up, "Please! Help me! I was kidnapped!"

\- o -

Frankie lived alone, and he preferred it that way. He liked the solitude. And he most definitely enjoyed the peace and quiet living alone afforded him. But his most recent encounter, it changed everything.

The trail of destruction left by Casey Jones was finally over. But the damage was done. Frankie was shaken, both physically and mentally. In all his years on the force, nothing like this has happened to him before. He was born to be a police officer. But when he was jumped by Casey Jones, and overpowered, that sense of helplessness gripped him from within. At that exact moment, he didn't feel like a police officer, he felt like a victim, through and through. And that lingering sense of victimization won't go away.

The ensuing debacle left him with several bruised ribs. Thankfully, surgery wasn't required. Frankie refused to take time off, either. The doctor obliged, and prescribed him a course of Vicodin to manage the pain, until the micro-fractures has had a chance to heal.

The Vicodin was a month's supply, to be taken once daily, when needed. The first week or so, the medication worked wonders, but somewhere down the line, Frankie found himself consuming two a day; once in the morning, and once in the evening. It wasn't so much the physical pain as it was his nerves. The Vicodin calmed his edged nerves.

Frankie was a changed man. Every bit of noise made him jump. At this point, he was certain it was psychological. Cavanaugh recommended therapy, but he outright refused. Police mandated therapy wasn't something you wanted in your file; it'll deter any chance of a promotion, and selective assignments. No. This will all go away with time, Frankie told himself.

Frankie placed his Glock on the nightstand. He then swallowed a Vicodin, turned on the lights, and went to bed.

\- o -

This was his fourth attempt.

The call was one ring shy of going to voicemail, but before that could happen, it was finally picked up.

"What is it, Finn? I'm kind of busy —"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't tell me the cops just happened to be there, when we were making a move on Gilberti Giovanni."

"Of course not. You asked me to actively seek out Giovanni. I received a tipoff, and I acted on it."

"You said you didn't want to be involved! Because of your indecisiveness, Maura was almost caught in the act!"

"Oh, shit."

"You better pray to whatever God you believe in that nothing happens to Maura. Otherwise, she's as good as dead. And you know exactly what I'm talking about."

"I'll take care of it."

"You better."

And with that, Finn hung up.

\- o -

It was the dead of night.

Maura was hurt, both physically and emotionally. This fiasco with Gilberti Giovanni started with Finn, and because of him, she was now entwined in this bullshit as well. Maura was there for her baby brother when he asked. But in her time of need, when she was almost overpowered by Giovanni, or when she was almost caught red-handed, Finn was nowhere to be found. She couldn't help but feel abandoned. Maura hoped that with age, Finn would change but now, that didn't seem likely. At heart, he was still the same: looking out for himself.

The wound was superficial. It didn't warrant overnight observations. When she was discharged, Maura had high hopes Finn would be there in the lobby, waiting to take her home, and console her. But in reality, he was nowhere to be found. But that didn't mean she was alone. There awaiting her, was Officer Bradley Cooper. Maura recognized him from BPD. Officer Cooper had been given orders to escort Maura home. She thought nothing of it. She was the Chief Medical Examiner, after all.

The drive was short, and in relative silence.

When the cruiser finally pulled up to her townhouse, it became apparent that the courtesy lift had nothing to do with her job title at all.

"Jane?"

The next thing Maura knew, Jane had her locked in a tight embrace. "Thank God you're okay."

"I don't think God has anything to do with it."

"I heard what happened. It's the talk of the department. I would've picked you up myself, if I wasn't up to my ass in bureaucratic bullshit."

"What happened?"

Jane sighed, and said, "I might get suspended."

"What? Why?!"

"I signed out a Beretta M82 from the Firearms Unit, and now, I have no idea where it is."

Maura tensed up as a jolt of intense guilt marred her.

"Some people lose their keys, cellphones, maybe their wallets." Jane said sarcastically, "I lose semi-automatic assault rifles. Go big, or go home, right?"

"I'm so sorry, Jane."

"Don't be. It's not your fault."

If only that was true, but Jane will never learn the truth. Maura didn't want to continue this topic. "Let's get out of here. Come in."

Maura opened the door, and welcomed Jane.

"Jesus, Maura. Your place makes my crappy condo look like a crack den."

"Don't be silly. I don't have much, but feel free to rummage my fridge, and take whatever you want."

Jane wasn't here for the food. Something's been bothering her all day, besides Joe Grant, and she wanted to get it off her chest, lest she wanted to go another night without sleep.

"Actually, Maura, I…"

Maura stopped what she was doing, and gave Jane her undivided attention.

"I think I could fall in love with you, too."

Those words; those exact words.

Jane grabbed Maura's hand, and with sincerity said, "I want to give this a try, if you'll let me."

Maura wanted this, she honestly did, but the first words out of her mouth were not what she expected. "Are you sure? I mean, have you ever even been with a woman before?"

"Are you, seriously, trying to talk me out of this?"

"Of course not. I mean, bisexuality, it's natural. As a doctor, and a scientist, I know that sexuality is a spectrum. And social biases, they codify the attraction. It's contrary to the biological facts —"

Maura was silenced in the best way possible.

Jane brought her lips down, and she sealed her feelings with a kiss. It was neither aggressive, nor overbearing. It was tender, and gentle.

When the kiss finally broke, Maura was metaphorically, and physically, breathless.

"I never realized how sexy your Google talk was."

"Stay the night."

That was unexpected. Jane had only recently come to terms with her feelings. Contrary to the stereotypes, she wasn't ready to have sex yet, or U-Haul, for that matter.

Maura sensed Jane's apprehension. She clarified, "I mean, sleep. I really don't want to be alone tonight."

"Oh, okay. But I'll need a shower first."

"You can borrow some of my clothes this time."

"I'm good with whatever, as long as it isn't frilly, or lacey, or you know, yellow and fluffy."

Maura raised an eyebrow at that last part.

"Child trauma involving Big Bird."

"I'll be right back. You can grab some towels in the closet, to the left."

Jane did just that, with the biggest grin on her face. She threw open the closet door, and she tiptoed to reach the top shelf, where the towels were. Even for her tall stature, they were just out of reach. She clawed at them till they fell off the shelf. They landed at her foot. Jane bent down to pick them up, when she noticed something. There, tucked squarely on the lower bottom shelf, was a hard case. It was eerily familiar.

Jane couldn't help herself as she reached forth.

"Jane! You find everything?"

"What…yeah!" Jane stood up, and closed the door behind her. "I got the towels."

Jane shook her head to clear her thoughts. It was most likely nothing. She was being silly.

When they were both ready and settled for the evening, or what's left of it, there was no awkwardness between them. In fact, they were a better fit than Tetris blocks. They were both injured: Jane with her left arm, and Maura with her right shoulder.

They melted into each other, and lulled into blissful sleep.

\- o -

Sunrise couldn't come fast enough. The start of a brand new day meant new hope, which in turn meant new opportunities.

Finn could hardly contain his excitement. The incident with Gilberti Giovanni was isolated, but more importantly, it taught him an invaluable lesson: if his anonymity didn't provide him with the safeguard he so desired, what's the point in hiding anymore?

In the past, Finn was only known as the Bleeder on the streets. He hid in the shadows, and shied away from most. It wasn't because he wanted to, but because Maura insisted on so. Well, no more.

Finn was going to do his Dad proud. The Doyle name will finally be restored to what it once was, feared and respected, when his father ran Southie. Finn had ambition. But this was all talk and hot air if he couldn't execute and deliver, and to do that, he needed money, lots of it.

The fucker, Giovanni, robbed him of $500,000. Those girls were his cash cows. Finn was going to work them till they earned back every last dime, and then some, preferably till they croaked, or overdosed, whichever came first. What made matters worse was the fact the Peruvian shipment was running low. And without Tomlin, it wasn't as high a grade as it previously was, which meant they had to sell at a lower price point.

Finn was being bled dry. He needed cash, and fast.

Everything today had taken three months to plan. And even then, they weren't going to execute until every last detail was accounted for. But a series of unfortunate events forced Finn to expedite his grand plan.

A crew of twenty-one boys were gathered in a warehouse by the docks. This commercial property was owned by Finn through a shell corporation, for legal and liability purposes. And now, came the big reveal.

Ronnie pried open one of the many wooden crates.

Inside each were an assortment of firearms. The one thing that remained consistent throughout was the fact that they're all semi-automatics.

"Listen up! We roll out in thirty, at ten o'clock sharp; not a minute earlier, not a minute later. We'll time it so BPD will be overwhelmed with robberies in progress at the exact same time, at seven different locations. They won't know which to attend first. I want everybody in-and-out in under three minutes. Grab whatever the fuck you can. Leave what you can't. And, please, feel free to shoot whoever the fuck you want; the bloodier, the merrier. Whatever you nab, you'll get a 40% cut, no questions asked. But if you steal even a dollar from me, I will bleed you dry."

Nobody wanted to authenticate the Bleeder's notorious reputation.

"Move it!"

Ronnie asked, "You sure about this, Finn? Maura said nothing high profile."

"I don't see Maura here. Do you?"

Ronnie knew better than to argue with Finn.

It was a new world order; the beginning of the Doyle dynasty; and it was Finn's time to reign.

\- o -

"Before we begin, Jane, are you sure you don't want your union rep present?"

"I have nothing to hide."

"Very well." Joe Grant switched on the recorder, and proceeded. "Detective Rizzoli, you're here because you're hereby under investigation for the shooting of Casey Jones."

"Yes. I'm aware."

"There are several inconsistencies in your report that I would like clarifications on."

"Such as?"

"In your statement, you said you were in the midst of a scuffle with Casey Jones, when a single shot rang out. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"The bullet we retrieved from the body was an identical match to a Berretta M82 in our reserve. And coincidentally, that M82 was signed out by you only two weeks prior, on the 15th. Do you have an explanation as to how the M82 you signed out, ended up being the murder weapon of Casey Jones?"

"I did sign out an M82, with the permission of Lieutenant Cavanaugh. But I had no idea the rifle was stolen."

"You had no idea the semi-automatic rifle, in your custody and care, was missing?"

"No. I did not. And the moment it was brought to my attention, I immediately filed a police report."

"Too little, too late, Detective Rizzoli."

Jane had to physically bite her lip to bite her tongue, so to speak; otherwise, she would've given Joe Grant a tongue lashing she'll dearly regret.

"The missing M82 was stolen, according to you, but yet some way, somehow, it reemerged out of the blue to place a single head shot to your perp."

It sounded completely ludicrous, and profoundly farfetched, even to Jane but it was the truth, and she wasn't going to waver. "I don't hear a question, Lieutenant."

"I just wanted to reconfirm that that's the story you're sticking with."

"It's not a story! It's the truth! Think about it: if I really did shoot Casey Jones, I would've said so, as it would've been a good shot. And you know that. I don't need to lie, Lieutenant. Furthermore, I'm certain ballistics will confirm what we both know: the shot was long range. It's evident from the wound, trajectory, and the blood pattern. I may be a great shot, but I'm not a trained sniper. That head shot required a particular skill set; one I do not possess."

Joe Grant agreed, wholeheartedly, but chose to remain silent.

"Maybe the union, and your fellow brother and sisters in blue, will respect you more, Lieutenant, if you didn't spend all your God damn time throwing accusations at good cops. We're done here. I changed my mind. The next you want to talk, call my union rep, and schedule an appointment."

Jane was done here. But Joe Grant had parting words for her.

"One more thing, Detective Rizzoli."

Jane sighed, and said, "What?"

"You're suspended, effective immediately, from active duty pending the completion of this investigation."

"You can't do that!"

"You're right. I can't, but Lieutenant Cavanaugh certainly can. And he agreed."

Jane has never been this livid before. She unclipped her holster, and she slammed her gun down. "Fine. Take it!"

"Feel free to work the phones, or if you prefer, your case notes or cold cases. Whatever to pass the time, Detective."

The condescending tone was not missed.

"Bite me, Joe."

\- o -

The war path was laid, and Jane tore through it with the ferocity of an F5 tornado. She grabbed a stack of files from her desk, and she made off without another word. She made a beeline for her cruiser. And she would've made a clean escape, too, if she didn't bump into Ma in the lobby.

A single file slipped from her grasp, and covered the floor.

"Watch where you're going, Jane." Angela gave a helping hand. "What's the hurry?"

"Nothing, Ma. I'll talk to you later."

"Wait! You left a sheet."

Jane didn't bother to give it a glance. She grabbed it, and said, "Thanks."

Only when Jane was alone in her cruiser, did she truly let her anger come through. She banged her fist, repeatedly, on the steering wheel. And when the boiling rage had finally come and gone, did she realize the sheet of crumbled paper in her hand.

It was a fax she received a few weeks ago from a funeral home. It was to notify her of the final resting place of Christopher Mullins. The Mullins case had hit a dead end. They had no suspects. And the Benzodiazepine, though a Class A narcotic, yielded no headway, either. And since then, the case has gone cold.

The burial ground wasn't far. And Jane, literally, had nothing better to do. She couldn't explain it. But with a shrug of the shoulder, Jane turned on the ignition, and peeled out.

It was a fifteen minute drive. And in honesty, Jane needed more than fifteen minutes to vent the steam shooting out her ears. This was her third cemetery in the last six months; she's seen enough tombstones to last a lifetime, and then some.

It was a public cemetery. The place wasn't particularly big, but it wasn't small either. Jane had no idea where Christopher Mullins was buried. Nor did she know what she was going to do when she found his resting place. It's not like she brought flowers. But nonetheless, she was here, so she might as well make the most of it.

There were a few visitors sparsely spread.

The tombstones were not laid in any particular order or formation. After tens of minutes wasted, Jane was this close to giving up, when she walked past one of the visitors. And she would've walked right past the headstone, too, if the girl didn't suddenly step back and bump into her.

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's fine. Don't worry about it." Jane gave the girl a quick glance, as she did the headstone, too. And as luck would have it, there it was, Christopher Mullins' name engraved on the marble slab.

"I was actually looking for Christopher Mullins, too."

"Oh?"

"I'm Detective Jane Rizzoli, with Boston Homicide." Jane flashed her badge, "Did you know Mr. Mullins?"

"No. I've only ever met him the one time."

"And yet you made an afford to visit him."

The girl shook her head, "I came so I can see for myself that the fucking prick really is dead. And exactly where he belongs: in Hell."

\- o -

 **A/N: Snap, Crackle, and Pop. Kellogg's rice krispies.**


	13. Chapter 12: Revelations

**CH 12: Revelations**

Night has long fallen. The house stilled, not even a peep. The only sound that stirred came from upstairs, in the master suite.

The room was void of any artificial light. A low glow from two candles provided all the illumination necessary.

Maura was on her back, her shame cloaked under the covers that rustled.

"Good Lord."

Maura wasn't one to take the Lord's name in vain; mainly because she didn't believe in the divine. But this, this was something entirely else, and not of this Earthly plane. As a single woman with a healthy sexual appetite, she's had her fair share of lovers, both men and women, but never has she felt this alive and invigorated. The intense attraction she had towards Jane certainly helped. And the friendship they developed beforehand aided the level of comfortability she felt. The intimacy was stellar. And the sex was mind-blowing.

Jane was huddled beneath the covers, her face buried in between Maura's tender thighs. She's never done this before. But she wasn't afraid to try, or learn. She tasted Maura with her lips, while her fingers gently grazed just the outskirts of her opening.

Jane popped her head out from beneath, positioned her body, and she looked Maura in the eyes, to seek permission to take their physical relationship one step further.

It was granted, in the form of a kiss. They kissed, passionately and feverishly.

Jane swept her right hand down the silky smooth terrain, and she lovingly parted Maura's legs. The love juice covered her digits, while her fingers circled the area, to tease and prolong the foreplay. It was sensual. And when Maura least expected it, Jane entered her, and she rocked away.

A sound, in-between that of a moan and a hum, escaped Maura's lips as her rosy cheeks flushed in response to the sexual stimulation. Maura buckled her hips, and she locked her legs against Jane's toned body, and she followed her steady rhythm.

This was one of those times when Jane didn't put too much thought into her action. No. She let passion be her teacher, and Maura be her guide.

This was their first time together, and the synergy created by their bodies was ready to explode. Jane could tell Maura was close. She's touched herself plenty of times to know. She increased her stamina, and she suckled on Maura's breast, repeatedly and hungrily.

Maura tipped her head back, and she physically shook, as a coarse wave of intense euphoria flushed her every senses. It made her body tingle; her toes curl; and her buttocks clench. When it was finally over, she was thoroughly and delightfully spent.

When Maura opened her eyes, she found Jane staring back at her.

"What?"

"I didn't think you could get any prettier. Obviously, I was wrong."

And with that, they kissed.

Maura pulled the sheets up, and she laid there completely satisfied, in every way possible. A thin veil of sweat covered her forehead; her sex hair disheveled as one might expect.

"This hardly seems fair, though."

"What?"

Maura turned onto her side, "I shouldn't be the only one to achieve an orgasm. Studies indicate the ability to ascertain mutual sexual gratification is often a key indicator to the longevity of a relationship, particularly same-sex relationships."

Jane ran a hand through her raven locks, and laughed, wholeheartedly. "You really need to work on your pillow talk. That wasn't sexy, at all."

"I'm serious, Jane."

"This was about you. Not me." Jane pulled Maura closer, and kissed her on the forehead. "Besides, I needed the distraction."

"That's what this was?" Maura couldn't hide the hurt she felt. "A distraction?"

"I didn't mean it like that, Maura. I want to. But I'm much too distracted. When your shoulder heals, then we'll get the ball rolling, okay?"

Maura knew better than to push the subject. She melted into Jane, and with a cozy sigh, she was swept off into a blissful night's sleep.

Jane wasn't lying. She had far too much on her mind. There was her indefinite suspension. And then there was the breakthrough in the Christopher Mullins case. She couldn't sleep. Or climax. But she wasn't about to tell Maura. She had something here. And she didn't want to lose that. No. She couldn't burden Maura with her troubles.

\- o -

It was a new day, but the same old bullshit wrapped in a different packaging.

Dispatch had sent the homicide unit to a residential address with two bodies, and one suspect in police custody. Rarely will you see such an open and shut case, but this was one of those instances.

Korsak was in a deep conversation on his phone.

Frost was in the midst of collecting information from potential witnesses.

Frankie was the last to arrive. He quickly popped a Vicodin, and he, too, joined the rest of the team.

"What do we have, Korsak?"

"Looks like we found the bandits from the Chase Bank heist over in Dorchester from yesterday."

"Really, Korsak?" Barry asked musingly. "Bandits? We're in the wild west now, are we?"

"You know what I mean."

The house was a dump. There was garbage everywhere. The wallpapers had morphed into an indescribable shade of urine yellow. And the stench of fecal matter and human ripeness, it was absorbed into the carpet, and it permeated the residence with an unshakable nausea.

On the kitchen table, piled in a cliché manner, were stacks upon stacks of cash. The bills were dyed a fruity red. And slumped over that cash were the bodies of their victims.

"Lewis, Ryan Murphy; and Chancey, Docelyn. Southie boys. And career criminals. They both did time, but nothing major, until yesterday that is."

"You think they knew about the other Chase Banks being hit?"

"I'm willing to bet my 1949 Fender Broadcaster on it. There's no way seven Chase Banks were hit simultaneously, all within mere minutes of each other. This was a thoroughly planned heist. And these guys were in on it from the get-go."

"How much are we looking at here?"

"We don't know which branch they hit, but based on what's on this table, we're looking at $100K, maybe even more."

"Shouldn't this be GCU's case, then?" Frankie asked, "Why was homicide called?"

"Gang Control is swamped. They want us to take the homicide. But that's not all. They want a confession. And a collaborating witness. They want to know who's behind the hit."

"Long story short: GCU wants us to do the grunt work for them."

"But we're shorthanded as well." Barry noted, "Without Jane, we're stretched thin, Vince."

"I don't like this anymore than you do. It's bullshit they benched Jane, and Sean knows it. But there's nothing I can do. Until IAB clears her, we'll have to make do."

Frankie asked, "This reeks of Doyle. You think CHB is up to her old tricks?"

"This was much too high profile. Either she changed M.O, or we got a new showrunner in town."

"I'll ride with our perp back to the station." Barry volunteered. "Might as well get this over with."

"I need to rendezvous with Martinez, and work out a plea bargain he's comfortable with. If it's worth his while, our perp might just take it." Korsak said, "You'll supervise the site, Frankie. Dr. Drake from the M.E's office has been paged. He'll be here to collect the bodies shortly."

Frankie nodded, "You got it."

And with that, Frankie was left to his own devices.

Frankie drew his fingers across the bright dye. The coloring had long dried. There were stacks of cash, and each were stained by the dye pack. But upon closer inspection, at the very bottom of the heap, were a few stacks that were spared, and untainted.

With no apprehension, Frankie stuffed the unspoiled bills into the inner pocket of his blazer.

And so, Pandora's box was opened.

\- o -

They chose to meet at this diner. There were a fair amount of patrons for its lunchtime rush, but it still offered privacy if so desired.

Jane was supposed to be on desk duty. She was also supposed to drain and flush her hot water tank, and get her apartment tested for Radon, but that wasn't happening either.

The girl was Sarah Manning, 25, a graduate student from Toronto, Ontario, Canada. And that was all she had to go on.

The meeting was scheduled for noontime. Jane arrived early, but someone had beaten her to the worm; she found Sarah in a booth, already on her second cup of coffee.

"I thought you said twelve o'clock."

"I did. I had to force myself to come early, because if I didn't, I know I wouldn't show up."

When the waitress came, Jane ordered a black coffee, and got down to it.

"You know I'm working the Mullins case, Sarah. If you didn't want to assist me, I can't force you. But you're here now, and that to me says something."

"Christopher Mullins is dead. And I won't lie. I'm glad the fucker's dead."

"You hated him that much?"

Sarah's eyes darkened, "Not enough."

"Why?"

Sarah reached into her backpack, and she pulled out a thick catalogue folder. She handed it over. "That's the reason the fucker's dead."

There were hundreds of pages compiled. At the very top of the pile was a court order. It was the gag order that sealed Christopher Mullins' juvy record; the one they couldn't unseal. This was the original copy, too.

"We were in summer camp together. Mullins was my camp counselor. I was only fourteen when he raped me. He didn't penetrate me, not vaginally, so the judge downgraded the charge from sexual assault to sexual misconduct."

Jane knew exactly what that meant. The downgrade meant the charge went from criminal to misdemeanor. It was the difference between a mandatory fifteen years, and a lifetime registration as a sexual offender, to probation.

"Mullins was seventeen at the time. His criminal record would be expunged on his eighteenth birthday upon completion of his community service." Sarah vexed, "How is that fair?! I had to relive the nightmare, over and over again, throughout the entire trial, and all for what? Justice wasn't served."

"And the gag order?"

"My dad wanted to protect my identity. And give me a new lease on life. But as you can obviously tell," Sarah gestured at herself, from head to toe, "That hasn't worked out too well."

"I'm sorry for what he did to you, Sarah. The system failed you. But you and I both know murder isn't justice served, either. His parents deserve closure."

"That's why I forced myself to stay, Detective Rizzoli."

"So talk to me."

"I've been in therapy for as long as I can remember. Last year, there was a time when I was off my medications, and I found myself spiraling out of control. I became obsessed with Mullins. I stalked him for the better part of a year." Sarah pulled out a micro SD card, and a few photos she had developed. "I was his first victim. But I wasn't his last."

Jane inspected the photos. They were all taken from afar, and with a long-focus lens. Christopher Mullins never, not once, looked directly into the camera. "You're a natural Veronica Mars. But I don't see how these photos have anything to do with his murder."

"Once a rapist, always a rapist. He struck again. I'm almost certain of it. But I don't have any proof. I started my meds again, and went back to therapy. I hopped on a plane, and headed back to Toronto before I did anything I regretted."

"Did you get a name?"

"Delphine Cormier. She worked with Mullins at that non-profit clinic in Southie."

For the life of her, Jane could not hide the shock that shot up her spine, as the color drained from her complexion. Maura owned and operated MEND. It was unfathomable that she would someway, somehow, neglect such an important piece of information when she initially interviewed her about the Mullins case.

"Detective Rizzoli?"

Jane snapped back to reality.

"You okay?"

"Thank you, Sarah. I'll take it from here. You did the right thing."

"Same could be said about the killer. Christopher Mullins was scum. And deserved everything he got. Whoever did this, they were doing us a favor, Detective. Keep that in mind."

Little did Jane know, those words would come to haunt her, perhaps, forever.

\- o -

The quaint pub was small, and had a homey feel to it. And it provided the perfect front.

In the back room, there were ten duffel bags, each packed tight and practically bursting at the seams. But patience was a virtue. They had a transmitter suppresser. That's the only reason the dye packs didn't go off when they exited the bank. Caution was key. If the dye pack was accidentally triggered, their entire haul will be rendered obsolete. That cannot happen. There was only one person that had the necessary skill set to get the job done. They could not afford to be stupid, or careless, at this point.

Tomlin still had a long road to recovery ahead of him, but at the very least, he was mobile. And that was good enough for Finn. Tomlin wasn't like them. From an early age, he had shown great potential, and a high aptitude for learning. He excelled at chemistry, and had advanced knowledge of biochemistry through self-teaching. Tomlin was the mastermind behind the designer coke they had peddled. It was his idea to cut the cocaine with Pregabalin. If it weren't for this promiscuous mother, or that dead-beat father of his, Tomlin's path would never have crossed with theirs. And now, Finn needed him to step up to the plate, however hard that may be.

Ronnie wheeled Tomlin into the well lit room, and locked the hand brakes.

"We need this money, Tomlin."

Tomlin had his jaw wired shut, from a bilateral mandible fracture he sustained. He couldn't speak, nor could he mumble. He simply nodded his head.

Finn and Ronnie left him be.

"Have you heard from Niall?"

"There's nothing to hear about. The fucker shot Ryan and Docelyn. And now the dumb fuck's in police custody. We can't touch him."

Finn was livid when he first caught wind of the blatant betrayal. Even after the grim warning, he knew his boys would skim a bit off the top, but to cut him out entirely? Niall was ballsy. But equally as stupid.

"I'll deal with him. I need you to grab a van, and head to the docks. We got a shipment of Syrian refugees coming in from Santorini. Grab the girls only. We needs girls to start working the parlors again."

"And the men?"

"Toss them."

"You got it."

Finn pulled out his phone, and he made an urgent call. It was a bold move. But he was desperate.

"Hello?"

"I need you to do something for me."

\- o -

As the Chief Medical Examiner of Massachusetts, Maura found herself stuck behind four walls, up to her neck in meetings, consultations, and paperwork. Nothing about this job resembled what you might see on television. She didn't get to run amok, and play doctor out in the field, and she most certainly didn't get to chase any bad guys.

But strangely, Maura didn't hate it. In fact, she savored the time. After all these years, and countless heartaches, she was finally able to do a job she was passionate about. From her earliest cognitive memories, Maura had wanted to be a doctor. But unfortunately, fate had other plans. She was a Doyle. And she had a legacy to uphold. But now, with Finn at the reins, she could finally pursue a different career path; one she truly enjoyed.

This surreal sense of contentment had much to do with her job, but Maura knew it was also because of Jane. In all her years of life, no amount of money or accolades even came close to the intense sense of fulfillment she felt with Jane. This was the real deal. And it almost seemed too good to be true.

"Dr. Isles?"

Maura jumped at the sudden intrusion.

It was Kent Drake: a senior medical examiner in his own right. And he wasn't alone. He came bearing gifts.

"Oh. Dr. Drake. I didn't hear you."

"Sorry. I came through the loading area. I have two DOAs. I need a sign off from you for the death certification before I transport out."

"Certainly."

Maura placed her clipboard down, and replaced that with gloves and a face mask.

Kent unzipped the first body bag. And the next.

Maura peeled the bag back, and immediately, her eyes widened unbelievably. The victim was a face she recognized. It was Ryan Lewis. He was a member of Finn's crew. He was an enforcer that worked the circuit at their exclusive clubs. She had seen him a month or two ago. But here he was, in the morgue, on her examination table, and very much dead.

"Something the matter, Dr. Isles?"

Maura said nothing. She tore into the second body bag. It was Docelyn Chancey. The second victim was one that hit closer to home. They've spoken many times before. From what Maura remembered, Docelyn grew up poor, and had aspirations to study marine biology one day.

"Dr. Drake, do you know the circumstances of the homicide?"

"No. BPD hasn't released much detail. From what I gathered, the two are suspects from yesterday's Chase Bank heist."

If Maura wasn't wearing a face mask, her reaction might have given her away. The revelation was hard to swallow. The Chase Bank heists was the talk of town. And the news coverage was extensive. With such a brazen attack, and flagrant disregard for the law, the city of was placed on high alert. Every drop of resource was being poured to solve the heists, and expose the mastermind behind such a high-profile, coordinated, strike.

It hadn't even crossed Maura's mind that Finn could be the one behind the robberies. She knew her brother. He wasn't one to attract attention. That wasn't how they were taught to operate, most certainly not by their father. But it was undeniable. Maura knew Ryan and Docelyn. They would never attempt such a glaring feat without Finn's support, or approval.

This was bad. Finn was spiraling out of control. If this trajectory of carelessness continued, she would be exposed.

"Excuse me, Dr. Drake."

"Where are you going, Dr. Isles?"

"I have a personal matter to attend to."

"But —"

Maura was gone before Kent could even object.

\- o -

From the very get-go, Jane ran point on the Christopher Mullins case. She remembered every last detail. All the personnel from MEND were extensively interviewed. And every one of them had been cleared. They either an alibi, or no clear motive for the crime. MEND was a non-profit organization; their roster was fairly small. And nowhere on that list does the name Delphine Cormier ever appear.

And then there was the sealed records that were expunged from the state repository. Sarah Manning wasn't wrong. Christopher Mullins was a monster. What made matters worse was the presiding judge's sentencing statement. He slapped Sarah Manning in the face by saying: "Boys will be boys." And thus sentenced Mullins to only a hundred hours of community service for the heinous crime.

Nobody knew about the breakthrough with the Mullins case. And Jane hasn't checked in with Cavanaugh either. She didn't know where she was going with this. And the less people that knew, the better.

Jane ranged the doorbell.

A woman opened the front door, but kept the storm door locked.

Jane held out her badge, "I'm Detective Jane Rizzoli with Boston Homicide."

The woman inspected the badge the best she could through a layer of glass.

"Are you Delphine Cormier?"

The woman nodded.

"I would like to speak to you about Christopher Mullins."

At the mention of that name, Delphine shook, visibly. "I need to make a phone call."

"That isn't necessary. This isn't a formal statement. You don't need your lawyer present."

"I'm not calling my lawyer." Delphine said, "Dr. Isles said I shouldn't speak with the police without her present."

For the second time that day, Jane had a sick to her stomach sensation, only this time, she was certain what the implications meant.

\- o -

Niall Gallanger was a dead man. He wasn't a genius, by any means, but it didn't take a genius to figure out the obvious. Finn was going to have his head. He never should've crossed him. But there was a saving grace; the police found him before he did. He was in police custody. At the very least, he would be safe, for now.

The police transport truck pulled into the underground lot. The engine was killed.

Three officers with shot gun rifles extracted Niall from the truck, and walked him into a separate entrace. The area was restricted, and only accessible by personnel with key card access. And it was here that the officers, with Niall, waited patiently for a elevator to take them to a secure holding cell, away from the general public.

The elevator light indicated basement, and the doors parted.

The elevator wasn't empty.

The doors had barely parted, when consecutive shots rang out.

The shots were fired in a rapid manner. A hail of bullets rained down on the bodies.

The officers didn't stand a chance. They were fully prepared for an external assault. What they didn't expect was an internal breach.

Niall Gallanger felt to his knees. "Please..."

The same semi-automatic pistol was raised. It fired one shot, aimed directly between Niall's eyes.

The elevator doors closed, and the light began to ascend back up to the station.

Throughout the entire ordeal, the restricted area appeared devoid of any life, and witnesses, but appearances can be deceiving.

Maura emerged from around the corner. She had watched the entire bloodbath unfold before her very eyes. Her sudden appearance wasn't coincidental. She had the very same idea he did. She wasn't about to let Finn be caught. But apparently, he had beaten her to it.

This was an unexpected turn of events.

"Interesting."

\- o -

 **A/N: It's the most wonderful time of the year. Or not.**


	14. Chapter 13: Cards on the Table

**CH 13: Cards on the Table**

"Ms. Cormier."

"Please, Delphine's fine."

"Okay, Delphine. Let's start from the very beginning. How do you know Christopher Mullins?"

Delphine fidgeted; her level of discomfort was apparent. "We...we worked at MEND."

"I'm not taking notes. This is off the record, okay?" Jane reached forth, and she squeezed Delphine's cold, frigid hands. "I just want to know what happened. That's all."

With a sigh and a dejected nod, Delphine opened up, for the very first time. "I only recently graduated, and got my nurse practitioner license. I had student loans, but nobody was looking to hire, what with budget cuts, reduced hours, and my lack of experience as a NP. I was at a local community centre, desperately searching the job board, when by the grace of God, I met Dr. Isles. MEND was non-profit, and the pay wasn't anything substantial, but the experience was invaluable."

"And that where you met Mullins?"

"Oh, God!" Delphine said behind a clasped hand. "I was so fucking naïve. I genuinely thought he was a nice guy."

"Hey. Listen. What he did to you, that's on him, not you. None of this was your fault."

"You're not the first to tell me that."

"And they're absolutely right. Look, I know this may be incredibly difficult, but I want you to walk me through the assault."

"I was in the drug cage doing our nightly inventory before we close up shop. I didn't hear the steel gate open, which meant he was in the broom closet, waiting, lurking, ready to pounce."

Jane had the layout of MEND memorized; every drop of detail resonated with her.

"He came up from behind me, and he injected me with God knows what concoction. And before I knew it, I was splayed on the floor, completely immobile and powerless. Mullins dragged me into one of the examination rooms. He positioned me in the lithotomy position with my legs parted on stirrups. And that's the last thing I remembered."

"Why didn't you go to the police?"

"I woke up in my bed, in my house, in a completely different set of clothing. The sadistic bastard had scrubbed my skin raw. All the evidence was gone. And when I finally realized what had happened, I freaked the fuck out. I couldn't deal. I wasn't strong enough!"

"It's okay. That's alright. I'm not badgering you." Jane said calmly. "Then what?"

"I couldn't bring myself to get out of bed. I just laid there. Two, three days later, Dr. Isles showed up at my door. And that's when I broke down, and told her everything."

That was what Jane was afraid of. Maura had known from the very get-go. There's only one reason for her to lie, and it sure as Hell wasn't to protect Delphine.

"Dr. Isles gave me a stellar recommendation. I live in Newark now. She paid the expenses for my relocation, and for therapy. She even personally enrolled me in a support group for survivors."

"She didn't recommend you go to the police?"

"No. She knew our efforts would be in vain. I needed closure, not justice. Before I knew about Mullins, I would still get panic attacks every now and then, and the occasional night terrors. But the moment I knew that motherfucker was dead, it was the day I knew I could breathe easier."

"Who do you think killed Christopher Mullins?"

"It could be anyone of this previous victims. The man was a serial rapist, Detective Rizzoli, do you get that? His methodology; his audacity; his technique; the way he forced himself upon me, again and again; he's done this countless times before. There's no doubt about it. My doors have reinforced locks, and yet, there were no signs of forced entry."

"I understand that, Delphine, but —"

"Do you, really?" Delphine cut off. "I am done here, with this interview, this house, and with Boston. I'm only back to sell the God damn place. The deal closed today. I'm gone. I'm never coming back. And if I may, Detective Rizzoli, don't bother chasing ghosts. Christopher Mullins deserved everything he got. No one will mourn his death. No one."

Jane could sense she overstayed her welcome. With a few small words, a nod, and a farewell, Jane showed herself out. But her day wasn't done, not just yet. She had opened Pandora's Box. And there was no going back.

\- o -

The entire Boston Police Department was evacuated, and had been swept from top to bottom by SWAT. But their efforts were in vain. The gunman was long gone. And whatever scent they had was gone with the wind, as well. And sure enough, brass wasn't happy. The only party that was in a celebratory mood was the media. They were having a field day.

The entire block had no less than thirty news van. Each one had a more obnoxious satellite than the next. It was chaotic. The networks were fighting amongst their fellow man for the better scoop, and if possible, an exclusive.

Not once, in his entire thirty-three year career, has Cavanaugh been this angry, and downright embarrassed. This was his first. And it was going to be his last.

"What the fuck?!" Cavanaugh chucked the entire folder across the room in an uncharacteristic fit. "Do you have any idea how incompetent this makes my station look?!"

"I've gone over all the footage with CSRU. I even went so far as to access their servers and database. The footage is gone. But even more peculiar, is the fact that all the security cameras were turned facing the wall minutes prior to the ambush. Even if we found the footage, they won't likely hold anything of value."

"What I want to know is how the fuck did someone slip in and out of BPD, our secure loading area, nonetheless, whilst completely undetected?!" Cavanaugh vexed. "Well?"

"There's only one explanation for that, Sean. This was an inside job."

Korsak's candid reply hurled Cavanaugh into a vortex of uncertainty.

"Lieutenant?"

"Bullshit, Vincent." Cavanaugh snapped. "We already have the Governor, and Central Station, on my ass. The last thing I need is an unsubstantiated rumor fueling the rumor mill. We cannot turn on each other."

Frankie finally asked, "So what do you want us to do, Lieutenant?"

"I want you to keep your heads down, and your mouths shut. Do not make a single comment to anybody. We'll let PR handle anything press-related. In the meantime, keep your ears to the ground. It's going to get ugly, and fast."

The entire Homicide unit, absent Jane, filed out and left Cavanaugh be.

The moment his office door closed, Cavanaugh picked up his receiver, and dialed out.

"Hello?"

"Special Agent Holiday."

"Oh. Lieutenant Cavanaugh. What a pleasant surprise."

The condescending tone was not missed. News of Niall Gallanger's assassination has spread more ferociously than a bush fire. Nina Holiday must've caught wind already, which made this call even more uncomfortable for Cavanaugh.

"I will eat my words, Agent Holiday, if that's what you want."

"It's not."

"Good. We need to speak in person, urgently."

"I'll be there in an hour."

Cavanaugh owed Nina Holiday an apologize. When she originally approached him about a mole within BPD, based on nothing but the accidental release of Julio Miguel Díaz, it was egregiously preposterous. But now, with such a brazen attack, Cavanaugh would be a fool to deny the obvious: they had a turncoat on their hands.

\- o -

The pub was deserted for a Thursday night. But then again, it was due to the fact that it was closed for business.

Finn had closed the entire pub for the evening. In light of the tough, and somewhat turbulent, week he's had, he felt he deserved a night of peace and quiet. And that's exactly what he got. He sat at his table, and he enjoyed his homemade shepherd's pie, with a pint of cold Guinness to wash it all down. It doesn't get any more cozy and hearty than this.

Things weren't exactly smooth sailing; there were bumps along the way, and plenty of blood spilled, but it was starting to look up. Now that they had capital to work with, they could finally expand their business portfolio. Drug trafficking and prostitution were the bread and butter of their business, but Finn was looking to take a bite out of the Triad's pie: loan sharking and counterfeit goods. The two businesses, combined, didn't make half the profits trafficking did, but they were relatively low key, which meant the reward was far greater than the risk.

After a final tally, their haul from all six banks yielded more than $1.3 million in cash, jewelry, and bear bonds. That number would be higher, if Niall Gallanger would've stuck to their original plan, but then again, it's not nice to speak ill of the dead.

"What the fuck were you thinking, Finn?!"

The serenity was short-lived, though expected. It was only a matter of time before Maura caught wind of his travesties. He could never keep anything from her for long.

"Nice to see you, too, Maura."

Maura was livid. She slapped the fork from Finn's hand. "Look me in the eyes, Finn, and tell me you weren't the one behind the Chase Bank heists."

Finn didn't see the need to lie, nor was he going to, for that matter. "It was me."

"Have you lost your mind?! We agreed to keep a low profile. And now because of your recklessness, Ryan Lewis and Docelyn Chancey are dead. They're lying in the morgue, as we speak."

"They knew what they were getting themselves into, Maura. There are no guarantees in this line of work; you and I both know that all too well. Besides, we gave their families enough money to see their kids off to college, if they make it that far. A consolation prize is better than nothing."

Maura could not be more appalled. She didn't recognize her brother anymore. He was no longer the Finnley Doyle she knew and loved. The man before her today was heartless, cruel, and every bit as corrupt.

Finn could feel Maura's eyes pierce his skin. "What?"

"I don't know who you are anymore."

"A lot melodramatic now, are we?" Finn wiped his mouth, and kept it causal. "Let's just make something abundantly clear: I'm no longer the green Finn you knew, Maura. And this is how I do things now. I won't lose sleep over it, because I know Dad would be proud of me."

"That's where you're wrong. The one thing Dad valued above all else was loyalty. And his men, the ones that fought tooth and nail for him, he would lay down his own life if it meant saving theirs." Maura said sternly. "But you, you see your crew as being dispensable. And that is exactly why, Finn, Dad would be ashamed to call you his son."

Finn's expression darkened in the blink of an eye. It took all his will power to hold back the urge to slap Maura, for talking to him like he was nothing more than a petulant child. But he didn't.

"You and I are cut from the same cloth, Maura. You're not any better than me, regardless of the degrees, the accolades, and the façade you've built. You're only a better actor. And unlike you, I no longer want to live my life behind a masquerade. This is who I am, and I don't care for your opinion, nor need your approval."

There was nothing more to say.

"It's that bitch, isn't it?"

"Do not talk about Jane like that!"

"You are playing with fire! Why can't you see that?! That bitch will leave you the moment she finds out who you truly are. You have more blood on your hands than you care to admit, which is fine, live your life in denial, on La La land. But as soon as that bubble bursts, you'll be back."

Maura didn't want to hear any more of this rubbish.

"We're family, Maura. Half of this is yours. Just say the word."

"Keep it."

Maura was done here.

\- o -

Jane pulled up to Maura's posh townhouse.

Everything she's done to this point have been off book, and off the record. Jane was a sworn officer of the law, and yet, she found herself protecting Maura, whether intentionally or unintentionally. It was wrong, she knew, but she hasn't decided on a course of action yet.

Jane hasn't forgotten. She opened her glove compartment and inside, was her cellphone. It's been there the entire time. She couldn't risk Nina Holiday eavesdropping, nor did she want any of this on record. She's had multiple missed calls from Maura.

The lights were off in the townhouse. Jane didn't have a key. So with no viable option, Jane did the next best thing: she kicked the front door in. The lock splintered against the wooden frame with relative ease.

Ever since Maura was implicated, and her blatant lies or more precisely, her omissions came to light, Jane retraced her steps, and the more she thought about it, the more certain she became: Maura Isles was not the person she appeared to be. And one particular thing stuck out like a sore thumb.

On the second floor, to the right, was the towel closet. And there, tucked neatly on the bottom shelf, was a black hard case. It was the same one that sparked an eerie sense of déjà vu.

Jane lugged the hard case downstairs, and set it on the kitchen island. This was it; the moment of truth.

The latch came undone.

Inside the case was an unassembled Barrett M82. The smell of Sulphur was pungent. The rifle had been fired recently, and before the gunpowder could dissipate, it was stuffed back into its case.

Jane ran her hand across the M82. This was the Barrett M82 she had signed out almost a month ago. And the reason for her suspension. It was also the same rifle that fired that fatal headshot.

A brilliant detective once said, "Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth."

There was no doubt in Jane's mind: Maura Isles was the shooter that day. She was the one that killed Casey Jones.

\- o -

Winter was coming.

This wasn't Game of Thrones, but it might as well be, in such a cutthroat city, in a dog-eat-dog world.

Given everything that's unfolded these past forty-eight hours, it was safe to say Finn was in a sour mood.

Undoubtingly, for the first time in his life, Finn was scared, frightened even, that he would lose Maura for good. They've never seen eye to eye, but like many siblings, they never held a grudge, and always made up. But this time, he wasn't so sure. This may very well be the crack in the dam.

Finn pulled his SUV to the foot of the hill. Another vehicle was already idled there.

In all honesty, Finn didn't want to take this call, but given everything that went down at BPD, he really didn't have a choice. But that was the thing with breaking news, readers have the attention span of a goldfish. The Chase Bank heists was yesterday's news. And today, it was the assassination of Niall Gallanger. Even Finn had to admit it was superbly done, but there was a price to pay.

The moment Finn exited his vehicle, he was greeted with an aggressive tackle.

Finn was caught off guard, and in a submissive position, when a flurry of punches made contact with his face.

"You stupid, son of a bitch!"

Another fist was about to connect, when the audible cock of a gun could be heard.

Finn shoved the barrel of his M9 pistol in his face. "Get off me."

The two bodies parted.

"I am done with you, Finn, you hear me?!"

The sucker punches were excruciating but expected, and deserving. "Look, I didn't want for this to happen either, okay? But I didn't have a choice. It was either Gallanger, or me."

"It won't be long till they follow the trail of breadcrumbs, and then what?!"

"You know it won't come to that. I'll make sure of it."

"Your assurance means jack-shit to me. I want out."

"You know that's not possible."

"Give her back!"

"We've been over —"

"Give me back my mom!"

"I'll keep her safe and sound, as long as you keep your end of the bargain. She has the best care money can buy."

"You fucking prick."

"You can take this as a token of my appreciation." Finn took out a mobile phone, and dialed out. He then tossed it over. "It's a burner, so don't even bother. You get fifteen minutes with her."

"Hello?"

"Mom! It's me."

"I don't know who you are, kid, but you have the wrong number."

"It's me, your son, Barold."

"I don't have no son. I have a daughter, though. She's pretty, and smart. Just like her Nana."

"She sure is, Mom."

"I don't want to switch my long distance provider, you hear me?"

Finn gave Barry his space. He lit a cigarette, and waited.

Camille Frost had advanced Alzheimer's. It was only a matter of time. But until then, she was his golden ticket. For as long as he had her, Frost was nothing more than a barking dog. What Finn feared though, was what would become of Frost once his golden ticket was no more. It wasn't going to be pretty, that's for sure, but until such a time, there was no point fretting about it.

If Frost doesn't work out, Finn had a contingency plan.

\- o -

Gilberti Giovanni was that man that changed everything, him included.

Tomlin still had nightmares about the ordeal. More than three months have passed, and yet, Giovanni was relentless in his torment. And like so many victims before him, he blamed himself for what happened. None of this would've happened if he wasn't so weak, pathetic, and sympathetic.

Well, no more.

He shouldn't be the only one to pay.

"How would you like to pay today?"

Tomlin handed her a prepaid credit card.

The items were bagged, and his card returned to him.

"Thank you. Have a good night."

Tomlin simply nodded his acknowledgement.

The wheelchair was precautionary, but the cane wasn't.

Tomlin walked with a limp, as he slowly made his way out the store with his newly purchased items.

\- o -

This was not the way it was supposed to be. When they decided to return to Boston, and reclaim Southie, and restore it to what it once was, this was not how Maura imagined it would be. Finn has changed so much, it was to the point where she was simultaneously afraid of him, and afraid for him. But Maura wasn't going to give up on her brother. No. Once the dust has settled, she'll try again.

But that wasn't all that bothered her. What Maura hated most of all, was the fact everything Finn said about Jane was true. Their relationship was built upon deceit. Their feelings may be genuine, but nothing else was. There was no doubt in Maura's mind, none whatsoever, that if Jane should ever find out the truth about her, her past, and the blood on her hands, she'll leave her in a heartbeat.

"Hi. You've reached the voicemail of Jane Rizzoli. I'm not available to take your call right now. Please leave your name, number, and a brief message, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks. And have a great day."

That was the umpteenth time Maura has gotten Jane's voicemail. Her mobile had been off the entire day. It was odd, but not unusual, given Jane's line of work.

Maura parked her car, and made the short walk home.

The front door was broken. And the door frame damaged.

After that heated spat with Finn, the thing Maura needed most was a release, and a dim-witted burglar was the answer to her prayers. It wasn't the smartest thing to do, bear in mind, but Maura didn't care; she wanted to vent her frustration out on somebody, anybody.

Maura kicked off her heels. And cautiously, she entered the front foyer.

But it wasn't a burglar. It was Jane. She sat at the kitchen island, completely stoic.

"Jane? What the Hell happened to the front door?"

Jane splashed the kitchen island with a spray of documents, courtesy of Sarah Manning. "Why didn't you tell me about Christopher Mullins?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Maura. I know about Delphine Cormier. Even better yet, I've already spoken with her."

Maura could not hide the dread, nor shock, of the sudden bombshell. It paralyzed her body, and it disabled her mind.

"But that's not all, is it? There's more, right?"

Maura said nothing.

"I want to hear you say it."

"Please, Jane, you —"

"No!" Jane punched the table, and shot up from her seat. "Do not play me for a fool!"

Maura's body trembled with trepidation.

"I already know..." Jane said dreadfully. "But I'm giving you one last chance to come clean."

Maura lowered her head in dejection.

Jane had had enough of this bullshit. She grabbed the hard case hidden beneath the counter.

"I'm Patrick Doyle's daughter."

Those words stopped Jane dead in her tracks.

"What did you just say?"

"I'm Paddy Doyle's daughter! There. I said it. This is what you wanted, right?!"

It wasn't what Jane wanted.

It wasn't what Jane expected.

\- o -

 **A/N: "Cards on the table, we're both showing hearts."**


	15. Chapter 14: How to Get Away with Murder

**CH 14: How to Get Away with Murder**

"What are you talking about?"

"I never meant to hurt you, Jane, you have to believe me."

"You can't be Paddy Doyle's daughter."

The cloud of confusion thickened. "You mean didn't know?"

"How could I have possibly known?!"

Maura wanted to throw up, right then and there.

Jane threw the hard case onto the counter.

And that's when Maura realized the grave error of her mistake. "I can explain, Jane."

Jane didn't want to hear it. She needed to get out of here; she couldn't breathe.

But Maura refused to let go. She knew the moment Jane walked, she would lose her forever. And that simply couldn't be. "Hear me out!"

"What can you possibly say?! There are seven bodies in the morgue with your name on it! And those are just the ones we know about. How can you explain those bodies away?!" The revulsion seeped through Jane's teeth. "You are everything that's wrong with this city. You're a cancer that spreads nothing but pain and suffering, and death. You really are your father's daughter. You have a complete disregard for human life. Like father, like daughter."

"Do not, for one second, talk about me or my father, like you know what we've been through. You don't have the faintest clue!"

"I don't give a fuck what hardship you've been through, Maura. You don't get to leave a body count in your trail."

"You stand there on your pedestal, and you judge me when you're sorely mistaken. You're no better than me, nor I any more culpable than you."

"You're a murderer!"

"NO!" Maura snapped. "I have killed, but I have never murdered!"

Jane was flabbergasted. "You want to explain, and belittle, your actions on a technicality?"

"Every person I've killed deserved it. I have never, ever, hurt an innocent soul. And every life I save serves as my repentance for that act." Maura stood her ground. "I have never lost sleep over it, because I know, with all my heart, that I did the right thing."

An incredulous scoff was all Jane could muster up.

"Do not judge me. Your hands are tainted, just as mine are."

Jane seethed with rage. "How dare you?!"

"How dare I speak the truth?"

"I have never killed for pleasure. They were all in self-defense, and they were all good shots."

"Says whom? If you killed someone in the line of duty, it's self-defense. When you massacre an entire village in the name of war, it's patriotic. Is that it?"

"You are so far gone, Maura, that it's unbelievable. You stand there, and you try and justify your heinous acts, when you can't. You just can't!"

"I may have broken the law, but the real reason behind your quandary is the fact you know I'm not wrong."

"This isn't justice! It's vigilantism!"

"There is no such thing as justice. I mean, how can there be when our system is just as corrupt as our officers. Open your eyes, Jane, there's an epidemic of police corruption in this country as we speak: Trayvon Martin, Michael Brown, Freddie Gray, Eric Garner."

"Not all officers are corrupt!"

"And not all mobsters are thugs!"

"I don't even know who you are anymore."

"I may be Paddy Doyle's daughter, but I'm still the Maura Isles you fell in love with. I'm still me, Jane; I haven't changed at all."

Jane struggled to fight back tears; she didn't want to, but the glaring betrayal was more than she could bear.

"Give me a chance, Jane, that's all I ask of you. I'll prove to you that I'm not the monster you think I am."

There was one more thing. Jane needed closure; she needed to hear it said out loud. "Did you kill Christopher Mullins?"

"I bear a conscience and not an ounce of regret, and that includes Christopher Mullins and Casey Jones. If they weren't stopped, their atrocity will undoubtingly end with more bloodshed. So, yes, I did."

Jane couldn't hear any more of this. She was done here.

"Are you going to turn me in?"

Jane said nothing. She stormed out.

When Maura was finally left alone, her façade broke down, and so did she.

\- o -

It was an unusual circumstance that led Ronnie to eventually find his way into Finn's crew. But once he joined, he never left, and that had been nine years ago. Ronnie wasn't the brightest bulb, but he had one attribute not many others had: loyalty.

But even Ronnie had to draw the line somewhere. This, even by his standard, was fucking retarded. Ever since they returned to Southie a year ago, Ronnie noticed a change in Finn's behavior. At first he thought nothing of it, but now, now it was a cause for concern. The Finnley Doyle he was now was erratic, bizarre, and downright stupid; Maura was right, Finn's changed, for the worse.

They worked a tight knit crew that ran a gambling circuit, and they trafficked girls, arms, and drugs every so often. They were making plenty of money to stay afloat, but Finn's eyes were bigger than his stomach; he wanted to take a bite from the Chinese's pie, but doing so blindly. They didn't have the first clue about counterfeit goods.

And then there was the Chinese Triad. Finn was essentially starting another turf war when they haven't even recovered from their last bout with the Giovannis. They've lost plenty of men, and the new recruits were nothing more than wannabe thugs. Maura was gone. And Tomlin was still months away from recovery. They were stretched paper thin. Which was why if the Chinese retaliated — which they certainly will — Ronnie feared they'll lose more than just money and face.

But Finn wouldn't listen to reason. And so here they were, at the mouth of the lion's den, ready to fall prey, and Ronnie was powerless to stop Finn and his folly.

"You guys ready?"

"Don't do this, Finn. I'm begging you."

"Just shut up, and follow my lead."

They were in Suffolk; the heart of Chinatown. The store front was a boutique. There was nothing unique about the place. It's what the back held that was of interest.

A tiny bell rang when the door opened.

"What can I do for you today?"

"We're looking for Mr. Chan."

"I'm so sorry, he's —"

Finn pulled out his pistol, and shot the guy, point blank.

"Wrong answer."

A flimsy curtain separated the front of house with the sweatshop in the back.

Ronnie fired two warning shots in the air.

The sweatshop erupted in a flurry of screams as women fled their sewing stations and scrambled to safety.

"Hey! You can't…"

Finn shoved a pistol in the guy's face.

Another guy came at them with a baseball bat, but Ronnie took care of that with one shot to the chest. And another one to the back, just for good measure. It was plain as day obvious the place was a domestic sweatshop. It's security was nonexistent.

"You're making a big mistake! Do you know who owns this place?!"

"Oh. That's where you're wrong, Mr. Chan, I do know. I know very well."

"Then you better show yourselves out, otherwise, I might be tempted to call him myself."

"That's exactly what I'm counting on." Finn said with a sly grin. "Go on, Ronnie."

Ronnie shouldered his SMG, and made a beeline for the back room. The overhead doors were opened in the loading dock. The backup beeper of a truck was audible.

"You can't take those!"

Finn pistol whipped Mr. Chan for his defiance. "Just watch me."

"Please! He'll kill me if you do!"

"Well, that's your problem, isn't it?"

Ronnie returned twenty minutes later, when all the cargo in the warehouse was loaded; all one hundred boxes of them.

"You go and you tell Lee that if he wants his shipment back, he should play nice, and let others have a go."

"Let's go, Finn." Ronnie hissed. "Before they come knocking."

"Almost done." Finn opened fire, and shot Mr. Chan in both his kneecaps. "Now I'm done."

The door closed, and the truck floored it.

Finn inspected the goods. The boxes held high quality handbags from designers such as Michael Kors, Kate Spade, Coach, Longchamp, and Burberry. They were top notch knockoffs.

They drove the entire shipment, all two trucks' worth, to their warehouse by the docks.

The guys got to work unloading the cargo.

Finn stepped aside, and lit up. He needed a smoke.

"That was incredibly stupid of you, Finn!"

Finn didn't want to hear it. He walked away, but Ronnie wasn't having any of it.

"We can't afford to start a war with the Chinese over fucking counterfeit bags!"

"If you wanted safety and stability, then you're in the wrong line of work."

"It's like you're not yourself anymore! You've pushed Maura away; you've discarded Tomlin like a piece of trash; and you won't listen to reason."

"I just want to expand our portfolio and make the Doyle name great again. What's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong? Are you fucking kidding me?! You armed the crew with submachine guns to steal fucking handbags! We're the laughing stock of the town!" Ronnie accosted Finn boldly. "Now we're sitting on products and we can't fucking move it! Do you know anybody that wants a God damn Michael Kors bag, cause I sure as Hell don't!"

Without warning, Finn sucker punched Ronnie right in the nose. The fragile cartilage made a sickly crack upon impact.

Ronnie stumbled backwards. Finn was like a brother to him. Not once, in all the years they've rolled together, has Finn ever reacted the way he did. This was a first, and it won't likely be the last.

"Do not take that condescending tone with me! I put up with Maura because she's family, but you're not. So get your head on straight, and fucking do as your told!"

Ronnie spat out a glob of blood. It didn't have to come to this. But he had an obligation. He pulled out his cellphone, and made a long distance call to Vietnam.

"It's happened."

\- o -

The world we lived in today, money talks. And with it, anything can be bought; everything had a price tag. The key was figuring out the amount. It had to be enough to incentivize.

Tomlin's mobility was limited, which made things a bit more difficult, but he was determined. That's how he's gotten this far in life, and it's what will, undoubtedly, be his downfall. But he didn't care. He needed this.

The detached house was a safe house; one of many in Roxbury.

Tomlin didn't have a plan, but sometimes, the best plan is not to have one at all. He waited outside the house.

If he had the full usage of his legs, he would've opted to kick the door in, and grab what he truly wanted. But this was his next best option.

The occupants of the residence didn't emerge till midday. It was time.

Tomlin grabbed his cane, and a little something he borrowed from Finn this morning: a submachine gun.

There wasn't any need to be stealth. Tomlin pointed the SMG, and he opened fire.

A spray of bullets found its targets.

The streets weren't empty, by any means. There were screams and shouts as people ducked for cover.

There were four bodies splayed on the front lawn of suburbia.

When Tomlin finally got close enough, he pistol whipped his target with the thick butt of his SMG, and that was it.

With an assault as brazen as this, in broad daylight no less, time was of the essence.

The car peeled away with a screech.

The tiny occupant stirred in the passenger seat, and awoke moments later, but there were no screams. He had non-verbal autism.

"Hello, Dante." Tomlin cooed softly. "You remember me, don't you?"

Dante nodded his head.

\- o -

The air was icy and frigid. The wind howled violently. It was poetic, of sorts. The weather reflected perfectly the inner turmoil she currently faced. And in all honesty, she would be lying if she said her resolve wasn't shaken, because it has.

Jane could not, for the life of her, stop thinking about Maura and everything she said; she was a killer, not a murderer. But to even draw that distinction was madness in itself. She wasn't an idiot. She knew the justice system was far from perfect. It was flawed. But to go so far as to justify your bodies counts, all because the system was imperfect, was insane.

The root of the turmoil stemmed from the fact she knew Maura; and, perhaps, loved her. The Maura Isles she knew was charitable, devoted, caring, socially awkward, and ever so brilliant. And now, she had to accept the fact that that was all a charade; that Maura was a cold blooded serial killer with not an ounce of remorse? Jane simply couldn't believe that. She knew what she felt. They've been to Hell and back, and the tears that were shed, they came from a place of sincerity. But she couldn't get past her conscience.

Jane left the rooftop. And she sauntered downstairs to Cavanaugh's office.

"Come in."

Jane knew the Lieutenant had his own bullshit to deal with, and she would've left him be, but this couldn't wait. She had sworn a solemn oath; an oath she could no longer fulfill, unless she rectified that.

"Got a minute, Sir?"

Sean Cavanaugh checked his watch. Time was tight, but something was bothering Jane, he could tell. "I've always got time for you."

"Have you heard back from IAD?"

"The investigation is still pending, Jane. Look, I know this is the sort of bureaucratic bullshit we all hate, but it comes with the badge. It's unfair. And grossly unjust. But it's also protocol. And until IAD gives you the all clear, my hands are tied."

Jane gave an impassive nod.

"But that's not all you wanted to ask me, is it?"

"If I had been the one that shot Casey Jones, would that have made a difference?"

"Are you changing your statement? If so, you should speak —"

"No. Only hypothetically speaking."

"If it had been you, then there's no doubt, it would've been a good shot. The problem is you lost your Barrett M85. And now, ballistics confirmed it's the same weapon used to shoot Casey Jones. This is about culpability."

"It was never about the shot, but the shooter."

"That's precisely it."

"Would you have shot Casey Jones if you had the chance?"

It was a no-brainer. Cavanaugh, with the conviction of steel, said, "Yes."

Jane chuckled humorless. "Yeah. I would, too."

"Jane, what is this about?"

This wasn't easy. The next words were said with a heavy heart. "I'm giving you my oral resignation, effective immediately."

"What?"

Jane handed in her badge. "I've accumulated enough vacation days to roll over my notice."

"If you need a break, Jane, take a sabbatical or even furlough. But not this."

"I'll give you a formal letter when I've had a chance to type it up."

"Jane..."

"Thank you for everything, Lieutenant."

Cavanaugh couldn't believe this. The station was in complete disarray. And now, he's lost Jane Rizzoli, one of his best and, hands-down, one of his most dedicated detectives. And he would've gone after her, too, if he wasn't strapped for time. He was late.

"Shit."

\- o -

Dispatch placed an emergency call for all available units within the vicinity of Cass Avenue in Roxbury.

Multiple units responded. The closest squad car was ten minutes out.

The panic attacks were infrequent, and his insomnia was better, but still, he wasn't fully himself, which was the reason behind his hesitation. Frankie really didn't want to. But the copper in him wouldn't let him pass this by, not when there were lives at stake.

"Dispatch."

"Go for dispatch."

"Tango Romeo 8858. Responding to 10-13 in Roxbury. ETA is five minutes. Please advise all units that plain clothes officers are on scene. Approach with caution."

"10-4."

Frankie floored it.

The street of Cass Avenue was a residential block.

The cruiser jumped a curb, and rolled onto the front lawn.

At first glance, there were at least four bodies. And a hooded figure hovering over the victims. Frankie shot out his car, and grabbed his gun. "Boston police!"

The mysterious figure bolted.

Frankie gave chase. The hooded figure was fast, much faster than he was, but there was nowhere to go. The approaching sirens could be heard. Backup was on en route, and escape would be damn near impossible when they arrived.

The hooded figure twisted, and threw a hard right. A large gate blocked the passage into the backyard. It was too tall to jump. And the locks held.

Frankie pulled his Glock out, and approached cautiously. "Don't move!"

The hooded figure turned around; a hand reached for something in their jacket.

"Gun!"

Frankie had a split second to react. And he did. He opened fired.

The hood came off, and the body dropped to the floor.

Several cruisers followed.

Frankie held his hands up, "Friendly!"

A uniform asked, "You alright?"

Frankie was winded; he practically keeled over onto his knees. "I'm fine."

Another uniform officer checked for a pulse, but found none. "She's gone."

The pronoun struck Frankie. He looked up, and finally got a good look at the guy. But it wasn't a guy, or a man. It was a kid. A girl. Based on appearance alone, she couldn't be more than eleven, maybe twelve.

"Check her pockets." Frankie panted. "She has a gun on her."

The officer turned the pockets inside out, but found nothing but a cellphone, and a couple of wallets.

"I can't find a gun, Detective."

"No. That can't be right. I swear I saw one." Frankie asserted. "I saw her reach into her jacket."

"For her cellphone, most likely."

"No...! I know what I saw!"

"Let's go. We'll sort this out."

Frankie knew what he saw, but without an actual gun, he was fucked. The political climate was sensitive, and tense. And given the recent scandal with BPD, if news got out he shot an unarmed black girl in broad daylight, he was done. They were going to have his gun and badge for this.

"Fuck!"

\- o -

The location for today's meet was confidential. Only two people were privy of its location. They, collectively, agreed that it wasn't in the best interest to involve their respective agencies, not until they worked out the finer details.

Nina Holiday collected the duffel bag in her trunk, and headed in for the meet. She didn't know what to expect, nor has she ever done this before, so she was flying by the seat of her pants.

The door to the flat was unlocked. The place was under heavy construction. The site was unlisted, and owned by a shell corporation. It wasn't exactly a safe house, but a federal black site; one of many in Boston used for clandestine meetings such as this.

"Lieutenant."

"Agent Holiday."

"Have you given my recommendation any reconsideration?"

"Yes. I have. And I don't want this off the books. I can understand where you're coming from, but if there really is a mole within BPD, I want our boys in blue to handle it. This isn't federal, nor should it be handled by the FBI."

That wasn't what Nina Holiday wanted to hear. When she initially approached Cavanaugh with her theory, the original plan was to get his consent so that she could run point on the investigation.

"Is there anything I can say to convince you otherwise, Lieutenant?"

Cavanaugh was permissive on many matters, but he remained adamant on this. "I'm sorry, Agent Holiday. I know you've put a lot of time and energy into this investigation, but this matter pertains to the reputation of BPD. It's only appropriate if it's handled in-house. The last thing I need is a jurisdictional tug of war with the Feds."

Nina Holiday gave a dispassionate sigh. And she dropped the duffel bag. "I understand, Lieutenant. I really do. So I hope you can extend me the same courtesy."

"What do you —"

Nina Holiday raised a pistol, and she shot Cavanaugh in the temple.

Sean Cavanaugh died before his limp body hit the floor.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, I really am, but you didn't give me a choice."

Nina Holiday placed the pistol in the clutches of Cavanaugh's warm hand. But this wasn't just any pistol. It was the same semi-automatic pistol that shot three armed officers, and Niall Gallanger.

The duffel bag held $100,000 cash. The marked bills were from the Chase Bank heists.

This was a frame job.

And Sean Cavanaugh just took the fall for it all.

\- o -

The office was cold. And empty. Maura showed up for work, but she wasn't herself, nor was she any good to anybody, not in the state she was in. It's been an hour since Maura last moved. She simply sat there, and stared off into space. Her mind was restless, as was she.

There were no knocks. Jane just barged in. She had all her belongings with her, in a rather cliché box.

Maura stood up, but before she could get a single word out, Jane had already beaten her to it.

"We need to talk."

\- o -

 **A/N: So many bodies, so little time.**


	16. Chapter 15: Point of No Return

**CH 15: Point of No Return**

The basement was dark, dinky, and musky. It reeked, but of what, it was hard to tell.

Tomlin pulled his pants up, and tightened his belt.

It didn't have to be this way. It certainly wasn't something he foresaw, but here he was. It was true, then. The vicious cycle of abuse has come full circle. Tomlin had gone from being abused to the abuser. But he couldn't help himself. It felt good.

But this wasn't simply about sexual gratification. It was also about control. And in some twisted and demented way, this was his way of taking back the control he lost when he fell victim to Gilberti Giovanni. The things Giovanni did to him were unspeakable. Months onward, and he was still reeling from the trauma inflicted upon him, and perhaps, he will continue to do so for years to come.

Dante Giovanni reminded Tomlin of the baby brother he lost. And that was the only reason he spared him in the first place. But that good heartedness got him nowhere; the same could be said about Teddy. Teddy was nine when he died. He died at the hands of their no good, dead-beat dad. And much like Dante, Teddy was autistic; he couldn't fight back. And now, fifteen years later, Tomlin has finally become his dad. It was a terrifying acknowledgement, but a liberating one, also.

Dante was hunched over in the corner, his tiny body lifeless and covered in goose bumps. There was blood. Not a lot, but enough.

Tomlin grabbed a canister, and doused the entire basement in gasoline. Nothing was spared. Every last inch of space was drenched. He held his cane in one hand, and a lighter in the other.

"Ignem feram."

The fire ignited in a flash.

And soon, the entire place was consumed in an inferno, including eight year old Dante Giovanni.

\- o -

In all his years on the force, never has he experienced chaos like this before, not even close. There were bodies dropping left and right. It was egregious. And there was nothing he could do. It was like the entire city of Boston was spellbound, and until that spell was broken, unseen forces will continue to wreak havoc on its people.

The address from dispatch was one he recognized by heart; it was for the residence of Sean Cavanaugh.

Frost waited for Korsak. And together, they entered the property.

Lieutenant Sean Cavanaugh of Boston Homicide was dead from an apparent suicide. A single gunshot wound to the head.

The kitchen floor was covered in muck and blood.

Frost clasped a hand to his mouth as he suppressed a gag.

Korsak's voice trembled, "What happened?"

"Sergeant Korsak." A uniform answered. "A neighbor found the front door insecure. When he walked it, he found Lieutenant Cavanaugh in the kitchen. He was pronounced DOA before the paramedics arrived."

Korsak was numb with shock and grief. He and Sean shared a past; they were both rookies in the academy, and they rose up through the ranks together. Sean Cavanaugh wasn't only his lieutenant, but the best man at his wedding — all three of them. And now, his friend was gone. He was dead.

CSRU bagged a gun.

"That's not Sean's gun, is it?"

"No. Lieutenant Cavanaugh's service weapon is still holstered. It's a Beretta of an unknown model. The serial number has been filed off, so it's most likely stolen or unregistered."

Something about this didn't add up. Even with the recent scandal that's plagued BPD, and the immeasurable amount of pressure he was under, Korsak still refused to believe believe Sean Cavanaugh would commit suicide.

"Uh, guys?"

It was Susie Chang.

"I just found this in the back of the Lieutenant's closet."

It was a duffel bag stuffed with hundreds. The zipper was practically bursting at the seams.

"There must be a hundred grand in that, easily."

That was the second red flag. Korsak was certain, a hundred percent, that this was a frame job. There was no way Sean Cavanaugh would commit suicide, and he sure as fuck wasn't dirty! This was a set up: plain as day. And he was going to get to the bottom of this, or die trying.

That gag was genuine. Frost really was sick to his stomach, though not for that reason. It made him sick to know Nina Holiday really did go through with it.

Finnley Doyle has really done it; he's finally turned his sister into a cold blooded killer.

\- o -

Maura has never found herself in such a predicament before. Ever since her idiotic, and frankly, candid confession, it was a constant battle between her mind, and her heart. Her mind was telling her to cut her losses, and head for the hills; Jane was a lost cause, and simply not worth the risk. And yet her heart yearned for her to stay, and fight for Jane and their relationship. Of course, Maura knew, it was silly for her heart to have a say in the matter. Her heart was nothing more than a muscular organ that pumped blood for the circulatory system.

Which is exactly why Maura stood outside Jane's apartment, rooted to the spot, neither here nor there.

The door flew open. "Come in."

"How'd you know I was outside?"

Jane pointed at the tiny sliver of space beneath the door. "I saw your shadow bouncing around."

No clues were given as to where Jane stood from her tone of voice. It was monotonous and dispassionate. Maura hasn't been this nerve wrecked since her college days, when she referenced Rudolf Vichow in her dissertation and forgot to cite his work in her bibliography in proper APA style format.

Jane could feel Maura's eyes on her. She wasn't prepared to forgive her. But this wasn't about that. "I quit the BPD."

"You what?!"

"I said, I quit —"

"I heard what you said, Jane. My response did not stem from acute deafness but from a place of disbelief." Maura continued, "What I know to know is why."

"You know why."

"What I've done is my choice. You shouldn't be the one to suffer the consequences of my actions. It has no bearings on you."

"Of course it does, Maura! The day I graduated from the academy, I swore an oath of honor. And now, I can't uphold that oath in good faith because…because of you."

Maura's heart shattered into irreparable pieces. She knew what being an officer meant to Jane, and now because of her, she could no longer peruse her true calling. And for that, Maura was truly sorry, and utterly heartbroken. But she couldn't bring herself to tell Jane, though she wanted to, desperately.

"I don't want your pity, Maura."

"Why am I here, Jane?" Maura finally asked. "Why ask me to meet you here if you can barely tolerate my presence?"

"I need you to quit your job as Chief Medical Examiner."

"I beg your pardon?"

"This isn't solely about you and I. Once your true identity leaks and your reputation is called into question, every case you've ever participated in will be called into review, and every case you've testified and gotten a conviction for, may be grounds of an appeal. Can you possibly imagine how many convictions will be overturned because of you?"

It was understandable, and sensible, too. But that didn't mean Maura wasn't miffed by those hurtful words. "I'll do it. If my resignation will offer you that peace of mind you so desire, then so be it."

Jane was surprised. She honestly thought Maura would need a bit more convincing. "You would give it all up, just like that?"

"Not just like that. For you."

Maura could feel Jane's body heat tingle against her skin.

"I would give it all up, if it meant your forgiveness. I would give you my all, if it meant we could start anew."

Jane was dangerously close to losing control. Her mouth was inches away from Maura's forbidden lips.

"I would give it all up in a heartbeat."

Their lips met. And they kissed.

At this moment, they weren't Detective Jane Rizzoli of Boston PD, or Maura Isles, daughter of Paddy Doyle and heir to his clandestine empire; right here, right now, they were simply Jane and Maura.

They fought for dominance as their bodies wrestled, their lips locked, and their hands caressed delectable flesh. In the heat of the moment, forgotten was their drama; reignited was their passion.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Their bodies pulled apart faster than polar ends of a magnet.

"Janie!"

It was Frankie.

Maura wiped the stray lipstick from her lips, and straightened her, otherwise, wrinkled blouse.

Jane got the door, and Frankie flew right on in. "Janie!"

Jane, in all her life, has never seen Frankie this frantic before. It unsettled her. Something must have spooked him horribly. "Calm down. What's wrong?"

"I shot a girl, Jane."

"You what?"

"I was responding to a 10-13. I didn't know she was only a kid. I thought she had a gun on her, but she didn't!" Frankie clasped his mouth. "Oh, God! I'm fucked, Janie."

"You had probable cause, right?"

"Of course I did! I saw her reach into her jacket, even after I warned her not to."

"Then it was self-defense, Frankie."

"She's dead! And I killed her!"

"Ho. Hey. Ho." Jane pulled Frankie in, and she hugged her sobbing brother with all her might. "I know you didn't mean to, Frankie, I know. But what's done is done. Nobody can fault you for that."

"You don't understand, Jane. They can!" From his blazer, Frankie pulled out a baggie. "I was under the influence."

Jane's heart sank to the pits of her stomach. It was a sandwich bag. And inside were twenty, maybe thirty, non-descriptive pills.

Maura grabbed the baggie, and examined the drug identification number imprinted on the white pill. "It's Oxycodone."

"Tell me you have a prescription for these."

Frankie's pronounced silence was his answer.

Jane threw the baggie in his face. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"They took a sample of my blood for analysis. They'll know! And I'll lose more than just my badge." Frankie dropped to his knees, and he groveled. "Please, Janie, you've got to help me. I can't…I just can't…!"

Jane could not condone Frankie's behavior. But she couldn't very well turn her back on her baby brother, either. "We'll call your union rep. And we'll hire a civilian attorney if we have to. In the meantime, keep your mouth shut. And don't utter so much as a peep."

"I can't go to jail, Janie! They'll fuck me up if they know I'm a copper. It was a good shot, I swear to you!"

Maura remained mostly silent thus far out of respect, but Jane was upset, and Frankie, well, he was fucked. She asked, "Who took your blood work, do you know?"

"Uh...it was Dr. Drake."

Maura knew that name. Jane recognized it, too.

"Go clean yourself up, Frankie. You're staying here tonight."

Frankie did as he was told.

"Jane, you —"

"Please, don't."

"That is your brother we're talking about. You're not asking anything of me. I'm doing this on my own volition."

This wasn't right, by any means. But Maura was right. Frankie was her brother. And Jane had to do what's best for her brother, with whatever means necessary.

\- o -

It didn't have to come to this. But the reality of the situation was dire. Boston PD was in complete and utter disarray. And this all started because the rot had spread from the inside out. Nothing was the same anymore, especially their unit. Jane was benched; Frankie was suspended; and now, Sean Cavanaugh wad dead. Finnley Doyle was the embodiment of Death, and everything he touched rotted from the core, until you withered and died. By that point, the sweet release was most welcomed.

The house was vacant. It was their childhood home; they couldn't bring themselves to sell it, so they kept it. The property was well kept and well maintained. It was a bit dusty, but nothing to tarnish the sweet memories it held.

The keys turned, and the locks came undone. And in walked Nina Holiday.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!"

"Do not take that tone with me!"

"How could you be so stupid, Nina! It's bad enough he dragged me into this mess, but now you, too?!"

"I did what I had to do." Nina defended. "You couldn't do it."

"I've worked with the man for five years! Sean Cavanaugh didn't deserve that!"

"If I didn't take the job, Finn threatened to expose you. If I had to pick between you, or Cavanaugh, it'll be you every time."

Barry knew Nina meant well, but none of this sat well with him.

They were the picture perfect family. They grew up in a middle-class family, with a loving father and a devoted mother. That was until their devoted mother had had enough of their loving father's bullshit. Eventually the stress of being Navy brats was too much for their mother to handle. She wanted to settle in Boston while their father, well, didn't. They separated a year later, and divorced after eleven years of marriage.

Then there was the issue of custody. It was bitter. Nina went to live permanently with their mom, and Barry with their father. After the divorce was finalized, their mother went back to her maiden name, and went so far as to have Nina change her surname as well.

It was only after his father passed away, did Barry move back to Boston. The first few years of their reconciliation were the blissful years. But soon, things went from blissful to nightmarish. Their mother was only forty-three when she was diagnosed with early on-set Alzheimer's disease. The disease ravaged their mother mercilessly. All that remained now was the shell of what she once was.

Finnley Doyle specifically targeted him. He grabbed her at her living facility, only to never be heard from again. Finn was using his own mother as a bargaining chip, to wield his will onto him. And it worked. For his cooperation, every month at a prearranged drop, he would receive a tiny box with a burner phone inside. Twenty minutes. That's all the time he got with his ailing mother in return for his cooperation. It was heartbreaking. And incredibly diabolical.

Well, no more. Barry wasn't going to take any more of Finn's bullshit, or blackmail. Nina wasn't like him. She had a bright future, and her whole life ahead of her. Sean Cavanaugh was her first job, and it's certainly her last.

"We can't go on like this."

"What choice do we have? That vile man has our mother. And he's threatening to expose you if we don't cooperate."

"If mom was cognizant, she would not want us to suffer at Finn's mercy."

"And his threat of exposure?"

"He won't get that chance."

Nina asked straightforwardly, "What are you saying?"

"We take Finn out."

"He'll kill her."

"I know. But you also have to understand that she's gone, Nina. She doesn't even remember who we are anymore. We can't go on like this. And no matter what we do, Finn will never give her back to us. We just have to accept that."

Nina was raised by their mother, single-handedly. This wasn't easy to accept. But Barry was right. She muffled a cry, and nodded.

"But we're not in the clear yet. We still have to deal with Finn."

"I want in."

Barry wasn't going to deny Nina that right. After everything Finn's put their family through, Nina deserved the chance to exact revenge, too.

"Then it's settled. We'll strike when he least expects it."

\- o -

Frankie was out cold on Jane's couch, either from fatigue or the handful of pills he's ingested, it's anybody's guess.

Maura was more than familiar with the standard lab protocol of BPD. Once a biological sample is procured, and placed on rush — which IAD will most likely have done — they had twelve hours. Once that window is closed, it's gone forever.

The BPD laboratories were always buzzing with life during the daytime. If they wanted to do this, they had to do it under the cloak of night.

Maura and Jane entered BPD well after midnight. They both had their credentials which meant they passed security with ease.

Maura pressed for the basement level. The elevator descended.

The tension was palpable.

"You didn't need to come, you know?"

Jane said nothing.

"I'll keep my word. I'll hand in my resignation come morning. I meant everything I said earlier."

Again, Jane said nothing.

"If you wanted to ignore me, you could've done so from the comforts of your own home. You needn't be here to do that."

"I…" Jane swallowed hard. "I'm ashamed, Maura."

"Of what?"

"This." Jane explained. "Frankie's a good man, and an even better detective. He made a mistake, but he doesn't deserve to have the book thrown at him. But that doesn't justify what we're about to do. This is, unequivocally, wrong. And I can't get past it."

"You're not doing anything, Jane, I am."

"And I condone it. I am just as culpable."

"Life isn't black and white but a spectrum of grey. There are no rights and wrongs, only decisions made."

This was all so new to her. For the first time, Jane truly saw Maura in a completely different light. This may not be as grievous as murder, but nonetheless, it was obstruction of justice. For Frankie, though, Jane would do in a heartbeat.

Maura stroked the backside of Jane's hand. "It's going to be fine."

The doors parted. The lab was Maura's domain; Jane relinquished control and followed her lead.

Maura led Jane down a corridor to the clinical chemistry unit. The entire premise was void of people except for a sparse few, scattered here and there. They were met with no resistance, whatsoever.

Jane closed the door behind her.

The sample would be assigned a catalogue number, as opposed to a name for privacy reasons, and to deter tampering. Maura logged on with her user name, and pulled up Frankie's case file via his date of birth. With the DOB as a point of reference, it didn't take long for Maura to locate the tray. There were five vials — as was standard protocol.

Maura grabbed the freshly printed labels from the printer. "Give them to me."

Jane's blood had been drawn prior to their departure. And she handed all five vials over.

Maura tossed the original vials into her handbag, and replaced the tray with Jane's blood. With the newly printed labels, no one would be the wiser to their ruse.

Maura set the tray back in the cabinet.

"What are you doing?"

Jane was supposed to be on lookout duty, but had obliviously neglected her duty. She, too, was startled by the presence of another being.

"Hello, Paul."

"Oh. Dr. Isles. I didn't realize it was you."

Paul de Boer was a senior lab technician that oversaw the night shift, and quality control of their work output. Maura has only ever met the guy a handful of times.

"What are you doing here so late, Dr. Isles?"

Maura didn't bat an eye. She lied through her teeth, "Dr. Drake sent me an email regarding the Rizzoli case. He needed me to oversee the process of due diligence and give him the sign off, given the sensitive nature of the case, and its urgency."

"I see."

"I'm just about done here, Paul, so I'll leave you to it."

Maura walked past Paul. And Jane did so, too, until he stopped her. "Hey. You're Jane Rizzoli from Homicide, right?"

"That's me."

"I just heard about what happened. My sincerest condolences for your loss."

"Uh." Jane uttered, "Thank you? I'll be sure to give Frankie your best."

"Frankie?"

"My brother."

"No. I'm referring to Lieutenant Cavanaugh."

Maura was almost afraid to ask. "What are you talking about?"

"Lieutenant Cavanaugh committed suicide. They found his body this afternoon."

"What?!"

\- o -

The gears screeched, and the wheels bounced several times upon landing. The turbulence rocked the Gulfstream G550 violently, until the rubber tires were able to gain traction and make solid contact with the runway.

They landed at Plum Island Airport, just outside of Newburyport. The flight had flown direct from Saignon, Vietnam for a duration of sixteen hours.

The ramp was drawn, and the latch came undone. The occupants exited the private jet in single file.

Ronnie was there on the tarmac. "Welcome back."

"Where is he, Ronnie?"

"He's holed up in his office at the pub. He won't see or speak with anybody."

"And Maura?"

"I haven't seen her in weeks. They had a falling out, of sorts."

This was not what he wanted to hear, nor intended for his children.

Ronnie held the door open. "After you."

It was long overdue. Paddy Doyle has finally returned.

\- o -

 **A/N: Would you do everything you could to save your baby brother?**


	17. Chapter 16: Into The Dark Side

**CH 16: (When Worlds Collide) Into The Dark Side**

The pub has closed its doors for weeks. It wasn't a cause for concern. It wasn't like the damn place truly needed the business. At the end of the day, the place was a front to launder their money.

The back room reeked of cigarette smoke. Finn had been holed up here the entire time. He was still in possession of those brand name counterfeit bags; he simply wanted nothing more to do with them. That was then, and this is now. Finn had another great idea. One that would surely make the Doyle name great, and simultaneously rake in the cash: real estate development. That was the cash cow. But it didn't stop there. The voices in his head was spurring him on, and it was the reason for his quarantine. Finn was on a binge.

This was unlike anything Finn's ever felt before. The juices in his brain followed with fluidity, and there were these voices that pitched ideas after ideas to him. It was reinvigorating.

The white erasable board had not an inch of white left on its surface.

The lock clicked. And the squeaky door opened.

"I said no interruptions!" Finn threw the marker across the room.

It missed, just nearly.

"Dad?"

Paddy Doyle finally laid eyes upon his son. It was a face he hasn't seen in years. And it was one that made his heart ache. Finnley Doyle was no longer recognizable. The boyish face was scarred with fatigue and stress. With his oily hair, disheveled clothes, and the heavy bags beneath his eyes, it made him look crazy, insane even. It aged his weathered appearance by years.

This was Paddy's worst nightmare come true. He had always expected this, but not this soon. Finn was only twenty-eight. His birth mother didn't exhibit signs of bipolar disorder until later on in life, when she was well into her late thirties.

"You're not real, are you?" Finn questioned. "Tell me you're not real."

"I am."

"You need to go, now!"

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You can't be here! They'll know!"

Paddy grabbed Finn, and held his body still. "It's okay, Finn. I'm back. And we're going to get you help."

\- o -

The case was open and shut. Lieutenant Joe Grant ran point on the investigation. It was a mockery. There was no due diligence. The result was to be expected: Sean Cavanaugh was guilty.

The Beretta 96A they recovered came back with a match for the ballistics that killed three special task force agents, and Niall Gallengar. And the money found in the duffel bag, the serial number matched the list provided by Chase Bank. It was pretty damning, to say the least. Thirty-three years on the force, and now in death, Sean was branded dirty. And the worst part: he couldn't defend himself. But Korsak sure as Hell can. And come Hell or high waters, he was going to get to the bottom of it.

Given all the talks and whispers currently circulating about, it was understandable for Central Station and all the top Brass, to kick it into high gear and attempt to wipe the memories of Sean Cavanaugh from existence. To them, he was but another taint in their otherwise impeccable image. What a crock of shit.

The office had been scrubbed clean. There were no indications as to who the previous owner was. All that remained was an empty shell of a generic office. The only familiarity that kept the place anchored was his old desk, a few stationery items, a note pad, a stapler, and a bottle of used white-out; this was all that was left of Sean's legacy.

In truth, Korsak didn't know where to even start. The Sean Cavanaugh he knew was old-school, and shied away from technology. If there were any clues to be found, it was most likely hand written. But everything, and that meant everything, was either confiscated, or destroyed. There was nothing for him to chase, much less ghosts.

Desperate times called for desperate measure. Korsak wasn't one to ask for favors, but he didn't have a choice. Despite his hatred and ill will, he had to reach out to Joe Grant, if he had any hope of clearing Sean's good name.

Korsak reached for the receiver, and dialed an internal number for dispatch.

"Badge Tango Romeo 9952. Can you patch me through to Lieutenant Joe Grant of IAD."

The answer wasn't what Korsak had hoped for.

"Fine. Then give me his mobile number." Korsak reached for a notepad and the nearest pencil. "Go ahead."

Korsak was about to scribble down that elusive number, when he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Cancel that."

The imprint was visible, it just wasn't legible.

Korsak shaded in the notepad, and what he turned up was something entirely else. It was an address. He had no idea where this was, or what it had to do with Sean, but he was about to find out.

\- o -

Jane was still reeling from the death of Lieutenant Cavanaugh. It seemed surreal that he would be here one day, and gone the next. Jane envied the days when their unit was whole. They worked together like a fine tuned machine, and had the highest closure rate of any homicide unit on the East coast. That was before a tornado ran rampant, and destroyed everything in its merciless path.

For the very first time, Jane was purposeless. There was so much for her to do, and yet she served no greater purpose, and that killed her. Frankie was a mess. And worse yet, IAD had left him out to dry. Without the backing of a union, all his legal expenses will have to be out of pocket. Frankie didn't say anything, but Jane knew he wouldn't be able to last much longer. She needed money, and fast. These were hard times. Jane didn't know who she could talk to at this point, but the first, and final, thought would always be Maura.

The appearance of Maura Isles was both a blessing and a curse. For this woman, Jane had risked her life countless times, opened her heart, and sacrificed everything she ever treasured or held dear to her heart, and through it all, she had no regrets. And Jane knew, if given the chance to do it all over again, she wouldn't change a damn thing. That's why this was so fucked up.

Maura kept her word. She handed in her resignation. She was no longer associated with BPD or the Medical Examiner's Office. She was determined to make this relationship work, no matter the consequence.

They were both unemployed. And had no prospects on the horizon. Then again, Jane wasn't financially stable, nor well off like Maura was. But she was determined to earn her keep. And that's when Maura suggested something she's been hankering to do from the very get-go: the reopen of MEND. It wasn't ideal, but it was the best thing Jane's heard so far. She had always been fond of MEND, its mission statement and what it stood for.

And that's exactly where they were headed. If MEND had any chance of getting off the ground, they needed a place to step up shop. The Doyle family had many property holdings throughout Boston and the greater Massachusetts area, all under shell corporations. This meant whether Maura wanted to or not, she had to make a trip to see her brother.

It did not slip Jane's mind that Maura had a brother. Nor did she forget that chance encounter when they met briefly, when MEND first burned down. But this was before she realized who Maura was. If Maura was Paddy's daughter, then Finn was the son; he was the Bleeder. Jane didn't trust him, and with good reason.

At the end of the golden brick road wasn't Emerald City, it was a dinky dive bar. Nothing about it would've raised a red flag.

Maura led the way, with Jane not too far behind.

The place was empty. It had a woody, rustic smell to it. It's exactly how you would imagine a dive bar would be.

"Maura?"

Ronnie couldn't be happier to see Maura, but his attitude became hostile when he realized she wasn't alone. "What the fuck is that cop doing here?!"

"Ex-cop."

"I love you, Maura, but this is no place for a copper. You should've known better." Ronnie threatened, "So leave now, or I'll show you out, you fucking bitch."

"I want to see you try."

Things were escalating at an alarming rate. Ronnie wasn't backing down. And neither was Jane. Things were about to get physical.

"Stand down, Ronnie."

Maura recognized that voice. Medusa has cast her spell, and it left Maura frozen, unable to neither move nor react.

Unlike Maura, that voice was foreign to Jane, but not the face. She recognized that face from anywhere. She couldn't believe her eyes. "Paddy Doyle?"

Maura's voice broke as she struggled to speak. "Dad…Daddy?"

It was Paddy Doyle, in the flesh.

"It can't be. You're dead. Your helicopter crashed into the Boston Harbor. They found the wreckage."

"I'm not dead." Paddy pulled a gun, "But you sure will be if you don't give me a reason."

"No, Daddy!"

Ronnie wasn't having any of it; he held Maura back for her own good.

"I don't care who she is, Maura. She knows. I can't let her walk."

Jane has stared down the barrel of many guns, but never quite like this. Her instincts has failed her, horribly.

Maura threw her head back, and knocked Ronnie to the ground. Without so much as a second thought, Maura did not hesitate to jump in front of the gun, and use her body to shield Jane.

"Maura…"

"If you want her dead, Daddy, you'll have to shoot me."

Paddy wavered, though he didn't lower his revolver. "You trust her that much?"

"With my life."

The conviction in Maura's eyes were unlike anything Paddy's ever seen before. Her determination was undaunted. Slowly, with prejudice, Paddy lowered the barrel of his swing-out revolver.

"Prove to me she's trustworthy, and she lives. But if she fails, she dies."

Jane had her doubts, but Maura had none.

\- o -

The room was pitch black.

It was only midmorning, and the sun was out and bright, but the bothersome rays were nowhere to be found. The pillows were stained with tears and mucus, but Frankie couldn't care less. It didn't bother him. Not much bothered him these days.

The Internal Affairs Department was tasked with the investigation. And it was most likely going to be ruled in Frankie's favor, but given the tense and sensitive political climate, his options were limited. IAD was blunt in their response; he could either quit, or they were going to fire him. Those were his options. In the end, Frankie chose the latter. And just like that, in one fell swoop, the Rizzolis were wiped from the BPD. Their glory days were over.

The girl, Quinta LeRoy, was only fourteen. The responding officers found several of the Roxbury victims' wallets on the girl. That was why she fled. When Quinta saw the bodies, she thought she could pickpocket the victims and earn a quick buck. What Quinta didn't count on was Frankie's response time. It was a series of unfortunate events that led to her untimely death. And nothing Frankie could do or say could ever bring her back.

The death of Quinta LeRoy was a wakeup call for Frankie. It was long overdue. Ever since he was victimized at the hands of Casey Jones, he knew he had a problem, but he couldn't face it. The stigma associated with mental health was much too harsh for him to bear. But Frankie didn't have a choice. He needed to do this, not only for himself but for his family and friends, and those that he's hurt as a result of his actions.

Frankie wasn't alone. Ever since the incident, Angela had been by his side, and never left him for more than an hour at a time. It was drastic, but much welcomed. Frankie couldn't bear to be by himself, nor his thoughts.

A knock sounded.

"Frankie?"

"Yeah."

"It's time for your appointment."

Frankie wasn't going to run from his problems anymore. He was finally getting the help he so desperately needed.

\- o -

The address was for a residential property that was still under construction. And what made matters even odder was the fact the address had no holdings and deeds registered. It wasn't on the Boston PD database either, so it wasn't related to any crime or reports filed with the bureau. Nothing about this residential address made the slightest sense, and yet, Sean went out of his way to make a note of it on his notepad. It had to be of significance. It just has to be.

The property was vacant. It wasn't difficult to find an insecure point of entry.

Korsak did a walkthrough of all three levels, and cleared each one. The last thing he needed was an ambush by a homeless man. The windows and doors were all secure. And the place was well kept for a vacant property. It just added to the overall sense of unease.

Korsak couldn't find anything of interest, much less suspicious. And that was the mentality he held until he entered what he surmised was the den. The moment Korsak entered the den, he was hit with a pungent smell of sulfur and potassium nitrate. It could only mean one thing: gunpowder. A gun had recently been fired. Given the fact that there aren't any occupants, it restricted the air flow to a minimum, so the room retained the smell.

The pink insulation on the walls were exposed. It's furry texture were natural magnets for dust particles and other gnarly goodies. On the side wall closest to the window, caught in the insulation, was oxidized blood.

There was no doubt about it. Korsak was certain at this point. This was where Sean Cavanaugh was executed in cold blood.

Korsak wasn't crazy after all. But it was about to get a whole lot crazier.

\- o -

"I'm sorry, Jane, I didn't know."

Jane said nothing.

"You didn't need to come. Ronnie and I are just as capable of handling the situation."

"Your father really didn't give me much of a choice, now did he?" Jane continued, "Paddy Doyle's reputation supersedes him. He isn't exactly known for his patience."

Maura flinched at the somewhat brutal, yet candid, jab.

"I honestly don't know what you see in this copper, Maura. I mean, she's a looker, and yeah, she's crazy hot. And those dimples could fill a ravine. But bitch is still a snitch. And she'll rat you out when you least expect it."

"Just let me do the talking. Whatever happens, keep your cool, and we'll be fine. They won't want to start shit. And neither do we. Got it?"

"Whatever you say."

"You, too, Jane." Maura's tone was dead serious. "The man we're about to see, Lee Man, he runs all of Chinatown. You don't want to go toe to toe with a man like that."

The name didn't ring a bell, though it shouldn't be surprising. This wasn't her district. And she never worked in Gang Control. She only did a short tenure in Vice, and then she bounced off to Homicide permanently.

"Jane?"

"Yeah. I got it."

They parked outside a dumpling restaurant in Chinatown.

The door chimed when they entered.

There were a few patrons here and there. The wait staff turned a blind eye, and ignore them completely.

Maura walked straight into the back where the VIP area was.

The scene was cliché, and taken straight out of every Chinese triad movie you've ever seen. Lee was stuffing his face with a bowl of noodles, while a couple of lowly thugs stood watch behind him. The thugs weren't intimidating in the least, but looks could be deceiving.

Lee threw his chopsticks down, lifted the bowl and slurped up the soup until nothing was left.

The bowl had previously obscured Lee's face. But not anymore. When Jane saw the face, a jolt of lightening struck her; it left a bitter taste in her mouth. She side-stepped, and retreated behind Ronnie, and out of sight.

"I think you know why I'm here today."

"Would it have something to do with the shipment you stole from me?"

"My brother took something from you, and I'm here to return it, with his sincerest apologies."

Lee smacked his lips, and picked his teeth with a toothpick. "Is that all?"

"You have my personal guarantee that nothing like this shall happen again in the future."

Lee threw the used toothpick right at Maura. "You think I'm fucking retarded?!"

Ronnie lunged in fury, only to be held back by a composed Maura.

"As a token of our apology, I'll allow you to use our maritime ports for one of your shipments. We both know that once you develop a pattern, it only makes it easier for Customs and Border Protection to find your stash, and raid you clean. Do we have a deal?"

Lee had this devilish grin that made you want to slap it off his fucking face, along with that pathetic pornstache.

"What the fuck is there to think about, you fucking chink?!" Ronnie screamed. "You ain't getting nothin' else."

One of the thugs leaned down, and whispered something to Lee.

"We have a deal, but with one additional condition."

"What?"

Lee pointed right at Ronnie. "I want him."

"What?! Are you out of your fucking mind, you fucking gook!"

"Go on. Tell her."

The one thug said, "That's him. He's the that shot Ming, and kneecapped Chan."

"You hear that? So you can have your truce, but only if you leave him behind."

"Nu-uh. No way!" Ronnie flipped the bird. "Fuck off!"

"Do we have a deal?"

"I'm certain we can reach a compromise."

"This is not a negotiation! Leave him, or you're not walking out of here."

Maura rapped her knuckles on the table three times. She then said, "I see. That's unfortunate."

It happened at the drop of a pin.

Maura flipped the round table over, and she rushed Lee.

Ronnie wasn't stupid either. He got the message, loud and clear. He pulled out his SIG Pro, and he shot each and every one of the lowly thugs before they knew what hit them. They were dead before their bodies hit the ground.

Maura threw an elbow aimed directly at Lee's temple. And brought the fight to the floor. She held him by the neck, and had him pinned to the dirty floor.

"Do not mistake my kindness for weakness. We're Irish. There isn't much that scares us, much less you."

Lee grunted and moaned, but nothing coherent.

"You can have your stupid shipment back, but everything else is off the table. If you dare retaliate, you'll find yourself in a world of hurt. Do I make myself clear?"

"Y...Yes."

"Good."

Maura brought her arm high above her head, and she slammed the table knife down on the digit as hard as she could. She severed Lee's thumb with the dull cutlery.

A blood-curdling scream filled the room.

"Let that serve as a poignant reminder for you."

Maura threw the knife aside, and left him be. She walked out, followed by Ronnie, with Jane bringing up the rear. It seemed too good to be true. The dust had settled, and they'll live to see another day.

And that's when Jane heard the familiar click. This time, her instincts didn't fail her.

Jane rotated her torso and she dropped to her knees in one fluid motion. Bullet after bullet, shot after shot, Jane pummeled Lee Man until her entire clip was emptied.

It was true. Jane didn't recognize the name, but that smug mug was forever ingrained in her mind. Back then, Lee Man wasn't known by his real name. While he was still a rookie, trying to make it up the ladder in the Chinese Triad, he was known colloquially as B.T.K: bind, torture, and kill.

Jane held a long forgotten grudge, but no more. She just killed a man in cold blood. And she felt not the slightest tinge of guilt. Not an ounce.

\- o -

The red light flickered off. And shortly, the door opened.

"We'll take it one step at a time. In the meantime, we'll keep you on the Lithium."

"Thank you, Dr. Parker."

"Take it easy, Finn. Give your father my best."

Finn exited the office. His eyes were drawn to the prescription he was just prescribed.

The two bodies collided, and their shoulders rammed into one another.

Their eyes locked. Neither party apologized.

Finn said nothing. And kept walking.

"Ah. Mr. Rizzoli. You're late."

"Sorry."

Frankie walked in for his appointment.

\- o -

 **A/N: I, honestly, feel like putting everybody, and have them fight it out. Maybe a combination of Battle Royale meets Hunger Games, and a hint of The 100.**


	18. Chapter 17: The Calm Before the Storm

**CH 17: The Calm Before the Storm**

It has not been a good week. Everything that can possibly go wrong has. And yet, in the midst of all the bullshit, Jane still found time to sit down with her family, and enjoy a nice, quiet meal. There weren't a lot of things important to her, at least, not anymore but family was and always will be one of them.

They were gathered at Frankie's place. Frankie's apartment was fairly quaint. The dining room was tight, but still, it gave off a homely feel. Jane did her best to support her baby brother, with whatever means possible, even something as small as dinner may go a long way towards his recovery.

Ever since Frankie's dismissal, and the scandal revolving the shooting began, Angela has made a home for herself on the couch. There mere sight of her frail mother with a constant look of fret, and her baby brother banished from the job he loved most, it pained Jane ever more, and it increased the burden on her shoulders. Jane didn't have the faintest idea what she wanted to do with her life, or what her future might look like, but she knew for sure, she'll pay whatever the price may be to keep her family together, and afloat, even at the cost of her soul.

The shower was on.

And Angela was in the kitchen.

"Let me give you a hand, Ma."

"Grab that dish towel. You can help me dry off."

Jane did just that.

"I wasn't going to say anything, Janie, but now that you're here, you look awful."

"Wow. Thanks for the boost of confidence, Ma."

"I worry about you. And Frankie."

"We'll get through this, Ma, you know we will."

"I know." Angela said in a voice barely above a whisper. "But it's been real tough. And Frankie, he isn't strong, not like you."

"You don't give him enough credit. Frankie will be fine."

"He doesn't have a job; he lost his pension; he can't work; and everywhere you turn, you see his face. They're calling him a child killer, you know. My Frankie!"

Jane could tell her mother was on the brink of tears, and she couldn't blame her. The news outlets were needlessly cruel. And until they snagged another juicy headline, they had their teeth sunk into Frankie, and their jaws locked.

"I hear him cry in his room all the time." Angela sobbed. "And my…my heart breaks —"

The flood gates had opened, and all the frustration and fear Angela had pent up was released.

There was nothing, nothing in this entire world, that pained a person more than seeing their parents cry. Jane has only seen her mother cry a handful of times. She was a strong woman that didn't break easily. But the mere thought of her son, and his bleak future ahead, that would be enough to break even the strongest soul.

Jane simply held her mother until the last of the trembles and tears subsided. It's best to get it all out, she knew.

"Feel better now?"

"Not really."

"Frankie needs to concentrate on his rehabilitation. Addiction is an uphill battle. And he needs all the support he can get."

Jane reached into her back pocket, and handed her mother an envelope.

Angela already expected this; what she didn't expect was the sum. "Oh, Janie! What…how much…?"

"That's $20,000. It should be enough to hold Frankie over for a while. We can't skimp out on his therapy. He truly needs it. I'll take a second job if I have to, but you make sure he keeps his appointments."

Angela threw her arms around Jane, and hugged her for dear life. "You're a good daughter, and an even better sister."

"I know, Ma, I'm a good daughter, not a modest one."

But Frankie already knew that. The water was on, and the shower was running, but Frankie was bone-dry. He was by the door. And he heard every word. Jane really was a good sister. And that made Frankie all the more determined. He was going to beat this. As God as his witness, he was going to beat his addiction, and overcome his PTSD, not for his sake but for his family's sake.

\- o -

Maura sat at the kitchen island, her laptop long forgotten, and a cup of hot tea not touched.

Maura was indecisive; she didn't know how she felt about her father being here. It's been years since she last saw him. When they were younger, they would fly out to Vietnam to visit. But as they got older, and their stronghold on Boston solidified, did their visits become more infrequent. It was time-consuming, and a precautionary measure. With their high profile life here, they couldn't afford to lead the authorities straight to their father, particularly Finn and his brash ways.

Maura was submerged in her thoughts. She didn't hear the light footsteps that approached.

"Maura?"

Maura looked up, and saw her father, freshly showered.

"Am I disturbing you?"

"No. Of course not." Maura said in an overtly chirpy tone. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"I love would some."

"A lot of people make the mistake of boiling a kettle to brew their tea. But the temperature is much too hot, and will actually burn the tea and cause a bitter undertone. A kettle boils at well over 212ºF, but the favorable temperature, especially for black tea, should never be over 205ºF."

Paddy watched as Maura danced away in the kitchen.

"Let steep for three minutes, and you'll have the optimal tea experience."

Paddy smiled, "I've missed you."

"Me, too, Dad."

They might not have seen each other in years, but Paddy was still her father. He knew when there was something bothering Maura. "But...?"

"Tell me, truthfully, why are you back?"

"Because of Finn."

"You keep saying that. But I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I never did tell you what happened to Finn's birth parents, did I?"

Maura had always wondered when she was younger. And she had asked many a times before, but to no avail. But as time passed, and they got older, Maura lost interest in knowing. Eventually, in place of curiosity was acceptance.

"Finn's parents had a history of mental illness. His father burgeoned his mother to death in her sleep. And he hung himself from the staircase banister. It was out of the blue, and all so sudden. He didn't so much as leave a note."

Maura always knew Finn's birth parents were no more, but she never pictured under such grisly circumstances. "It's like he's an entirely different person. I haven't seen Finn in months. And he won't return any of my calls."

"He'll be fine. He's seeking treatment. When he wants to, he'll resurface, Maura, you have to give him time, and space."

"Do you know...?"

"Dr. Parker believes it's bipolar disorder."

This made Maura feel like absolute crap. She was a doctor, and she couldn't see the signs. She was blind to her own brother's ailment. Finn's erratic behavior, and his complete disregard for consequences, it made perfect sense.

"How long do you plan on staying, then?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"I am more than capable of caring for Finn. There's a reason you fled to Vietnam, Dad. The federal indictments against you have no statute of limitation. If anybody, and I mean anybody, catches wind of this, the FBI will hound you to the end of time. And this time, they will succeed. They will not lose face twice in a row."

"I have a handle on things. But in the meantime, I need you, Maura."

Maura was hesitant, and it showed. "I want to reopen MEND."

"I know, honey. Three months. That's all I need." Paddy pressed, "I have something in the works, and I need somebody I can trust, wholeheartedly."

To some, it may sound like a request. But Maura knew better. She could not decline. With a heavy sigh, she said, "Fine. Three months. And that's it."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me just yet. I need your personal guarantee, Dad, that you'll leave Jane untethered. This is my mess. Not hers. She can come and go as she pleases, without the fear of retribution."

"Are you two...involved?"

"We are."

"Then so be it. I trust your better judgment. But should something go array, it'll be your mess to clean."

"I trust her."

"And so you should."

There was one more thing, though. It did not slip Maura's mind. "Where is Steely?"

Paddy said nothing, nor did he give anything away.

Maura nudged the tree a bit. "Ronnie picked you up from the airport. He said Steely was with you."

"He's out of town. He hasn't seen his family in years, so it's understandable that he'll want to see them the first chance he gets."

"Steely doesn't have any family."

"He does, Maura."

Maura didn't press the matter any further. That was the thing about her father. Maura knew better than anyone else, that he could make even the most farfetched lies sound believable. You never know when he's being truthful, or deceitful. That's what made Paddy Doyle a legend. And such a disappointing father.

\- o -

Vincent Walter Korsak has been with BPD for thirty-three years, and never, in all those years, has he ever been this burnt out. He was losing grip on reality, and his own sanity. It's been well over three days since he last slept. And until he could piece the pieces together, his mind wouldn't, and couldn't, give him peace of mind.

Since Korsak discovered that house, the gunpowder, and the oxidized blood of what he already knew — in his gut feeling he just knew — to be Sean's blood, he's been pounding the pavement.

All that effort, and he has nothing to show for it. That God forsaken house on Canterbury Street did not exist! At least on paper, it didn't. There was no land registry for that building. There were no building permits issued. No paperwork filed with the city for rezoning, or retrofitting. Nothing. There was nothing! Do you know how improbable, and difficult, it is to wipe the record across the board clean like that?

The wick was at its end, and the flame was smothered. Korsak had fallen asleep at his desk.

"Korsak!"

Nothing.

"Korsak!"

"What..." Korsak finally said. "...do you want, Joe?"

Lieutenant Joe Grant was not happy. Then again, he rarely was. "I just got a call from the FBI, Boston field office. They issued a vague warning not to infringe upon their jurisdiction. What in God's name are you doing?"

Korsak was still groggy.

"Well?"

"I don't know what they're talking about, Joe."

"Whatever it is you're doing, just stop. The last thing I need is a pissing match with the Feds."

"Fine."

"Good. I'm only the acting Lieutenant until a suitable candidate assumes the job, so don't make my life miserable, Vince, and I won't make yours one, too."

And that's when Joe's words finally clicked. "Wait! Did you say the Feds?"

"Yeah. Have you even been listening?"

The light bulb went off. And the bigger picture began to form. And none too soon. It reinvigorated Korsak with a renewed sense of energy. "That FBI agent that was snooping here a few months back. What was her name, again?"

"Agent Nina Holiday. What about her?"

"Whatever happened with her and IAD?"

Joe waved his hand, and dismissed it. "Another rookie eyeing for more juice. She made a lot of bold and unsubstantial claims about BPD, but then she went radio silent. The last I heard, she worked things out with Sean before, well, you know."

That's exactly what Korsak thought, and feared. "I've got to go."

"Whatever it is, Vince, don't do it!"

Korsak threw on his blazer, and headed out. When he was finally alone in the elevator, did he dare make a call on his personal mobile.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Gabriel."

"Jesus. Korsak, is that you?"

"Listen, Gab, I need a favor."

"Go on."

"You still stationed at the Boston field office."

"You know it."

"I need you to run a name for me; off the record and on the down low."

\- o -

This was not where she wanted to be. Nor did she want this to be her legacy. But Maura has come to understand from an early age, that people, people like her father, Finn, Ronnie, and even herself, were a necessary evil. For there can be no good without bad; no light without dark; no right without wrong. At least, that's what Maura told herself, so much so, she started believing it. It was her way of coping. And it worked, for now.

This was Maura's first meeting in almost a year. She hasn't attended one of these since they oust the Italians, and Finn took the reins. The faces before her were familiar, and trusted. There was one particular attendee she hasn't seen in an equally as long time.

"What happened to your eye, Tomlin?"

"I was in physiotherapy. The resistance band recoiled, and caught me right in the eye."

On the outside, Tomlin appeared relatively fine. The wounds had, more or less, healed and the scars faded. His mobility still had room for improvement, but at the very least, he was mobile. But there are scars to which the eyes can't see. And those are the ones, Maura knew, that can hurt you the most.

"If you're not up for this, Tomlin, I need you to tell me now."

"I can do this."

"Okay. If you say so. My father has set up a meet for us. A new supplier."

"What's the product, you know?"

"I don't have a clue. The details have been scarce. I'm assuming it's drug paraphernalia of sorts, most likely cocaine in free base form, or liquid heroin."

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Ronnie said excitedly. "That's where the money's at."

"The initial shipment will most likely be a test run. If we can prove to him we're capable of moving his product, then he'll cut us in, permanently." Maura continued. "And that's where I need you, Tomlin. I want you to dial down the potency. Not only will it double our supply, but it'll reduce the chance of potential overdoses."

"Are you fucking kidding me, Maura?"

"I'm quite serious."

"Who does that?! If we dial down the potency, the kick won't be as hard, and we'll lose out!"

"It's not up for discussion." Maura said firmly. "Make no mistake about it: I don't agree with any of this. You know how I feel about narcotics. If it were up to me, we wouldn't even be having this discussion. But it's not. I don't have a choice, and neither do you."

"Fine. Whatever."

Jane couldn't told her tongue a moment longer. "Paddy arranged this?"

"He did."

"When's the meet, then?"

"In three days."

"We'll be ready. And if the DEA just so happens to be there, then we'll all know who the fucking rat is, won't we?" Ronnie pointed directly at Jane. "So don't be stupid, yeah?"

"Don't start, Ronnie. Nothing will happen. We still have plenty of time. We'll take every precaution necessary."

"Will Finn be joining us?"

"No. He won't."

"Is that why we're here?" Tomlin asked. "I mean, why else would you ask us to meet you here."

Maura checked her phone. It was almost time. "It's not what you're thinking. Go over to the next room. You'll find binoculars there."

"What for?"

"Just humor me."

Ronnie and Tomlin exchanged a look of confusion, and did as they were told.

It was just Jane and Maura now.

Jane's prolonged silence didn't go unnoticed.

"You don't need to be here, Jane. If it's money you're worried about, I'm more than happy to loan you whatever it is you need."

"I don't want your handouts, Maura. Whatever it is, I'll do it, as long as I don't directly hurt anybody. I want to earn my keep."

"If that's what you want."

Maura moved to the window, and rotated the blinds so that they were open. They were in a commercial building adjacent to the bar. "Come over here."

Jane stood alongside Maura.

They stood there, and they watched as cars drove by, and people walked past.

"What...?"

"Patience."

They stood there for another eight or so minutes, , in nothing but complete silence. And then it happened.

A van jumped a curb, and came to a turbulent halt. Several men in ski mask exited, armed with heavy machine guns. There were more than a handful, but less than a dozen. All, but one, of the men concealed their faces. The only exception was the leader. He made no attempts to hide his profile. He was Asian.

And that's when Jane realized what this was. This was retaliation for the execution of Lee Man.

The men stormed the dive bar. It was eerily still, silent, for a full minute. And then, shots rang out. It was loud. And deafening. The bar had no artificial lights on, but was currently alit with gunfire. It was as bright as midsummer noon.

But the madness didn't stop there.

Several black SUVs with tinted windows pulled up, in the same urgent and haste manner as the van. The agents were donned in bulletproof vest with the letters, ATF, etched in bright yellow. It didn't take a genius to figure out they were with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives. And they weren't alone. They had back up. An armored vehicle trailed not too far behind. Jane recognized the authority, they were ETF: Emergency Task Force.

An army of ETF agents gathered outside the bar. And they, too, stormed the place. But unlike the Chinese Triad, they were heavily trained and deadly skilled.

"This was your doing?"

"Sometimes it's not about being the hardest worker in the room, but the smartest."

Even Jane had to admit this was brilliant. Maura has managed to eliminate whatever threat the Triad posed, by using the ATF to doing her bidding. She didn't have to get her hands dirty. Nor did she have to show her face, and risk losing men in the ensuing conflict. Whatever risk posed, would be that of ATF only. It was two birds with one stone.

Jane lowered her head, and she sniggered uncontrollably. Sometimes she forgot that Maura truly was the CHB. No wonder Gang Control and Homicide spent two years chasing the CHB, only to turn up empty handed. It made sense now. They were up against the likes of an adversary like Maura Isles. And now, Jane didn't even feel the slightest edge of discontent or resentment at the time and energy lost. She realized, now, that they never stood a chance in the first place.

"Jane?"

Jane grabbed Maura by her blouse, and she kissed her. The kiss was neither tender nor intimate. It was rough. And it was dire.

Maura stilled lips livened. She took several steps back while Jane kept advancing, until she was pressed up against the wall. Their lips danced while their bodies contorted, and their hands enchanted.

Jane needed this.

So did Maura.

\- o -

When you've hit rock bottom, there really is nowhere to go but up. And Frankie was absolutely determined. He knew what sort of emotional strain, and financial burden, he has become to his family. This was only temporary, he told himself.

With a renewed sense of resolve, Frankie arrived at his session an entire hour early. He still vividly remembered being late for his last session, and the time wasted can't be recouped. The therapy sessions with Dr. Parker weren't cheap. They were at least $200, if not more. And Jane was covering the cost entirely, out of pocket.

The below ground parking lot was bare. It only had a few cars sparsely parked. Frankie cut through the lot, and headed towards the elevators.

"It wasn't me. You think I would remember canceling my fucking appointment, yeah?"

Frankie didn't recognized the voice, but he most certainly did so the face.

It was déjà vu all over again.

As the bodies walked past each other, their shoulders collided once more. The parking lot was more than spacious. It was gargantuan. But for whatever reasons unknown, their bodies attracted each other, and the collision was unavoidable.

Frankie dropped his keys from the unexpected impact. "Really, asshole?"

The same as last time, Finn did not apologize. He simply turned around, and kept walking whilst still on his cell phone.

Frankie sighed. And bent down to pick up his keys. And that's when something caught his eye. There was a red light flashing periodically from the underside of a Range Rover. And the asshole was headed straight for it. He had his car FOB pointed at the vehicle.

You can take Frankie out of being a copper, but you can't take the copper out of Frankie.

"Hey!"

Frankie didn't think. He reacted with his instincts, and relied on his training.

Finn unlocked his car with two beeps. When from out of nowhere, he felt a hand on his shoulder. And before he knew it, he was hoisted beneath the arms in a firemen's carry.

"Bomb!"

The full-size luxury Range Rover SUV erupted in a spectacular fashion. The fireball was condensed, and impactful. It consumed the entire vehicle with ease.

The blast sent the bodies flying in all directions.

Frankie and Finn were motionless on the cold cement floor.

\- o -

It was never her intention to hurt an innocent bystander. Finnley Doyle was the target. But in the process, there was collateral damage. And that was the reality of the situation.

Their bodies were still. It was impossible to tell if they were dead, or alive. But that was a chance Nina wasn't willing to take. If need be, she was going to finish the job.

Nina cocked her SIG Pro. And emerged from the shadows

\- o -

 **A/N: Put this down, and go watch The 100. Or just, Clexa. Go. Do it. Now. Why are you still here? Go! I said The 100, not Vampire Dairies. Fuck off, Stefan.**


End file.
